


Just a Heartbeat Away

by midnightshades



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Sam/Eileen, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Fluff, Human Castiel- Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Demons and War, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightshades/pseuds/midnightshades
Summary: Dean has heard the myths and legends. He has heard the stories from eye witnesses, the accounts of first hand interactions from the kind of people he would least expect to spew nonsense.Angels walked the Earth ages ago, disguised among common folk, helping and healing in their pass. As time went by, their presence withdrew little by little until it was just a case of healing here and a case of reviving some little girl's dying hamster there. After a while, it all faded into a mere tale of reassurance.Not in this lifetime would Dean have imagined he would be standing facing one.-When an unplanned guest joining his very much planned vacation, Dean never anticipates he's about to find his shot at happiness.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, hope you all are doing well.  
> This is the first time I'm writing a fic that is completely outlined (don't know how that happened because I was supposed to be working on a fix-it but every time I think about that abomination of a finale, I'm filled with rage) instead of making it up as I go, so I'm pretty confident about this. College is as stressful as ever and writing is my happy place so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this. This fic has no beta, we die like my faith in spn writers, hence all mistakes are mine. There isn't anything particular to be tagged as a trigger but if something comes up I will surely mention it in the beginning of the chapter. 
> 
> Updates will be weekly unless something blocks my schedule (which doesn't happen that often). I'll see you all next week then. Leave your feedback in the comments!  
> Comments and Kudos are my fuel !! Enjoy!

Hands I have taken, face I have kissed, 

mortals I have ever touched, it shall be you.

I dote on myself… there is that lot of me, and all so luscious, 

Each moment and whatever happens thrills me with joy. 

I cannot tell how my ankles bend… 

nor whence the cause of my faintest wish, 

Nor the cause of the friendship I emit… 

nor the cause of the friendship I take again.

— Song of Myself [Walt Whitman]

**When the Sky Starts to Dream**

The silence is not as unnerving as he had imagined, even the absence of something small but habitual, like the ticking of a clock somehow calming. Dean looks up at the ceiling as he lies back on the slightly dusty but soft mattress, wondering if the complete stillness would start to get eerie as the day grows dark.

The cabin looks much better than the last time he and Benny had come over. It took more than a month of work and a sore back, but the place turned out to be pretty gorgeous. A single story cabin made of Mahogany and Walnut, snug and pristine with an open floor plan and storage space in the attic—moreover, a huge steel—was something Dean couldn’t just let go. Sure, the chairs had wobbly legs and nearly every door creaked, but it was more than habitable. The view was something indescribable—stretch of clear blue sky roped by a never ending line of rocky mountains—and the place is relatively safe; nothing but a few rodents to worry about, and Dean's sure he could one up a Chinchilla or two.

He picks up his phone and calls Sam, knowing it won't be much long before the two bars of reception fades away.

"Took you long enough, I thought you got eaten by wolves," Sam snorts. "Eileen says hi, by the way."

"Give your brother some credit, Sammy, I can handle a pack of wolves," Dean says, grinning even if Sam can't see him. "Eileen doing okay?"

"A tiny bit of morning sickness, that's all," Sam says, but Dean doesn't miss the worry hidden in his tone. "It's alright otherwise."

"Yeah, that's good," Dean nods to no one. "Don't work yourself up, she's a tough cookie. And if it's anything to go by their uncle, the baby is a tougher one."

"Thanks, still not gonna name the baby “Dean”."

Dean grins, "After everything I’ve done for you…”

"Don't start now," Sam says, the hint of an eye roll in his voice. "Anyways, how's the place?"

"It's great, thanks to myself."

"Please, Benny probably did most of the work."

"Dude, supervision is important," Dean shot back. "'Sides, you know I can't keep my hands to myself when it comes to fixing up."

"Yeah, you're a control freak," Sam laughs. "Do I need me to remind you of the time Jo bit you when you tried to arrange her desk?"

"That girl had stuff all over the damn table, it was like an avalanche of papers!" Dean protests. "She's so messy I wonder how she still has her head on her neck."

"Speaking of Jo, she threatened to drive over to Colorado if you don't call her back."

Dean groans, smacking his forehead, "I promised to call her friend back after that date and-"

"You didn't," Sam finishes.

"I didn't."

"Who would've seen that coming," Sam says, tone dripping with sarcasm. 

"Man, Lisa's nice and everything, and really hot, but something didn't click, you know?"

Sam sighs in resignation, "Honestly, I have no idea. Just tell me when you find the one who _c_ _licks_ , I don't have time to keep track of this."

"I hope you lose your next case," Dean retorts.

"Fuck off," Sam says, no heart in it. "I need to get to work, I'll call you later, jerk."

"Bitch,” Dean replies instinctively.

The phone lands on the mattress with a quiet _thump_ and Dean gets onto his feet, mind resolute on exploring the place before it gets too dark to appreciate the beauty. 

When he collected his paycheck with the added bonus from all the vacation days that he never called in, Dean's mind was already throwing darts on all the places he wanted to visit. It isn't necessarily travelling, just a road trip to a few places that seemed quiet and calm. Driving around at the beginning of winter isn't exactly the beach vacation Dean always wanted but this is a different kind of feeling. Everything around him is quiet and the silence is welcoming, coexisting with nature and all that hippy crap he pretends to hate.

Eileen is pretty far along and Dean wanted to stay and be there for Sam but his brother and sister-in-law threatened to take his key back and lock him out forever if he didn't go along with the plan, so there wasn't much choice there. 

He stuffs his hand in his pocket and starts heading up the path leading away from his cabin. A thin sheet of early winter mist layers the air, the signs of approaching frost visible in the wilting leaves of the plants growing along the sides of the clearing. 

In the midst of the pleasant scenery, Dean almost misses the lump on the floor. _Almost._

He blinks a few times, taking in the fact that the lump has a mop of dark hair and a hand sticking out from the sleeve of a tan coat. The fifteen or so steps between him and the figure on the ground is covered quickly and Dean crouches on the floor.

The first sigh of relief comes as he touches the man's arm, the skin cold but not frozen under his touch. He mustn't have been here long. A deeper sigh of relief floods through Dean as he sticks a finger under the guy's nose, warm air hitting his skin. _Okay, he's alive, that's good._

Dean lays an arm on his shoulder and shakes gently.

"Hey buddy, this ain't a nice place to take a nap," it's a weak attempt at a joke to an unconscious man. "Come on man, wake up."

Another shake of his shoulder, a little harder this time, and he gets a pained whimper in response. He exhales, rolling the man on his stomach, holding his breath in anticipation of a wound or a puncture. To his surprise the man looks okay, _pristine even,_ a dark suit and inside out blue tie framing him. He's attractive in a capturing way—defined cheekbones and razor sharp jaw with a five o'clock shadow—minus the fact that he is currently in the process of freezing to death.

"I'm gonna help you off the ground now, 'kay?" Dean asks, and doesn't wait for a response as he hauls the man into a sitting position, tugging him up by his shoulders. The man whimpers, this time more pained.

"Can you stand up?" 

All he gets in response is the man leaning closer into Dean's chest, probably seeking some source of warmth, and Dean feels a flutter in his chest. He throws the man's arm around his shoulder, Dean's own curled around his waist as he gracelessly hauls them both to a standing position. 

"We're gonna get you to someplace warm, alright?" Dean asks, not knowing why he keeps trying to make conversation with someone who's half an inch away from death. _Okay, maybe that's exaggerating._

He staggers more times than he would like to admit on the way back to the cabin, the added weight of the unconscious man getting more strenuous with every step. Luckily, the cabin is in his line of vision within a couple minutes of trudging downhill. He somehow covers the rest of the distance and drags both of them up the threshold, pushing open the front door, mentally pats his past-self on the back for having the insight to not lock the door behind him. 

Dean drops the man's deadweight onto the couch, his back popping as he straightens up. The man whines, his eyes fluttering under the effort to focus on the world around him.

Dean leans down and slowly pushes him sideways to get him to lie on the couch.

"Get some rest, buddy," Dean says softly, watching the stranger's shoulders droop as he sinks into the corduroy. 

So much for a relaxing week.

* * *

The soup is halfway done when Dean hears the sound of something— _someone—_ shifting behind him. 

"Had a nice nap?" Dean calls over his shoulder. When no response comes after a minute or so, Dean sets the flame on low and turns to the living room.

The man has the bluest eyes Dean has ever seen, under hooded lids and dark lashes, long enough to be seen even from the couple of feet between them. Dean barely gets time to take in anymore as he flinches from the fear and distress in the stranger's face. His hands are fisted into the blanket on his lap and he looks three seconds away from bolting through the front door.

"Woah, it's alright," Dean says, raising his hands on either side of his head in submission. "I found you unconscious in the middle of the damn road, mind telling me how you ended up there?" 

The few seconds of silence that follows marks the most uncomfortable Dean has ever been.

"Where am I?" the man asks carefully, eyes not leaving Dean. The gravelly warmth of whiskey in his voice rivals the unwavering sternness in his tone, and Dean feels his own lips twitch into a smile on its own accord.

"Telluride, Colorado," Dean supplies.

The man blinks, "Earth?"

"Yeah buddy, that's where people are usually from," Dean snorts. "They drop you off the saucer on the way to Mars?"

"I don't reside on Mars," he says, the look of utter seriousness on his face.

Dean searches his face for any signs of discomfort beyond waking up in an unknown place. Chances are of him having a concussion or being loaded on some edible, which seem to be the only possible explanations.

"Are you feeling dizzy or feel like you're gonna throw up?"

"No," he replies. "I feel cold." 

"Yeah, I can fix that," Dean leaves his place next to the stove and grabs a blanket from his duffle, approaching the man carefully. He flinches at Dean's attempt to wrap the blanket around him, but stills himself. He leaves the blanket draped around the man's shoulder and takes the seat on the adjacent couch.

"I'm Dean," he introduces, "Now your turn."

The man blinks back at him, tilting his head to the side, eyes narrowed. It reminds Dean of the devil’s spawn of a cat that used to live in their shed back in Lawrence.

Dean sighs, "Your name, man."

"My name is Castiel."

"Castiel...never heard a name like that. Pretty nice though, don't get me wrong." he says, offering a small smile. Castiel just keeps staring at him, eyes so blue Dean can't find it in himself to look away. He clears his throat and asks, "You got anyone I can contact? Family or friends, anyone?

"My brothers and sisters…," Castiel begins, voice trailing off into a whisper, a thin line forming between his brows. "I remember being injured in the war...I can't remember what happened…"

"War? Dude, this isn't the1930s," Dean says, all sense of amusement seeping into annoyance. "Look, did you take anything?"

Castiel scowls, "What do you mean?"

"Man, come on," Dean sighs in frustration. "Drugs."

The stranger's scowl deepens, "I have not consumed anything at all."

"Well, good," Dean chuckles, "Soup will be ready in a couple of minutes so that's a good start. I'd offer you coffee but look like you need more sleep."

"I can't, I have to go," Castiel shifts uneasily, eyes fixed somewhere past Dean's shoulder. "I need to find my companions."

Dean runs a hand through his hair, "Man, give me a number or an address to work with. I can't just let you out when you were out like a light just a couple of hours ago."

Castiel doesn't say anything in return, his expression far off as the wheels turn in his head.

Outside, the sun sinks into the horizon sending glares of reds and oranges coloring the snow. Birds fly in silence, back into their homes, having done with their little tasks for the day. 

A small gasp from next to him grabs Dean's attention.

"I don't…" Castiel's eyes widens. "My grace...I can't feel it."

"Your grace?"

"I'm an angel, Dean."

Dean snorts, "Sure you are."

"You don't understand," Castiel scrambles to his feet, swaying unsteadily. "I don't have my grace anymore. I'm human."

Dean reaches out, but stops with his hand halfway in the air at the look of anger and confusion on Castiel's face.

"You sure you don't have a concussion?" Dean asks softly. 

Castiel stiffens, his hands reaching up to his temple. He whines softly, clutching his head and staggering on his legs. Dean doesn't hesitate this time, reaching out to study him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Cas," Dean shakes him gently. "Come on, talk to me."

"I can remember now…" Castiel says in a harsh whisper. "I was injured in the war...my grace was ripped off."

Dean runs the words over in his head, some of the distant memories resurfacing. The dots start connecting and he stares back at Castiel, his jaw slack and his heart slamming hard against his chest.

"You're telling me," Dean swallows with a click, "you're really an…"

Castiel's face relaxes marginally and he looks up at Dean, his features framed even more beautifully by the shades of crimson light seeping in through the open window, a prominent contrast to his lighting like eyes.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

* * *

Dean has heard the myths and legends. He has heard the stories from eye witnesses, the accounts of first hand interactions from the kind of people he would least expect to spew nonsense. 

Angels walked the Earth ages ago, disguised among common folk, helping and healing in their pass. As time went by, their presence withdrew little by little until it was just a case of healing here and a case of reviving some little girl's dying hamster there. After a while, it all faded into a mere tale of reassurance.

Not in this lifetime would Dean have imagined he would be standing facing one.

"You're not fucking with me, right?"

"If you're questioning the legitimacy of my claim, I'm afraid to let you know that I have no means of proving it to you," Castiel snaps. 

"Alright, just asking," Dean replies. "Uh, never thought I'd meet one of you guys, you know? Always heard these stories about your folk but I guess after a while you just got bored and gave up on us."

Dean can't help but let the accusatory tone seep into his words. He always wondered why people had to suffer when there was this whole bunch of people with all kinds of mojo living in the clouds. It was unfair... _still is_.

"There is so much you don't understand, Dean," Castiel replies, and if Dean's words offended him, he manages to keep it out of his tone. Either that or he simply does not care what Dean thinks. 

The latter makes better sense.

"Sorry," Dean finds himself saying, snatching his eyes away from Castiel's steady gaze. "You don't gotta explain shit to me."

"My apologies,” Castiel speaks after a beat of silence. “As much as I would like to, there are some things I cannot reveal to you.”

“Angel business, got it,” Dean shrugs.

“If it helps I'm one among you now, I'm _human,_ " Castiel says, in the same tone a toddler uses to refer to the broccoli his mom forces him to eat.

"Hey, it's not that bad," Dean says defensively, but keeps the topic of the pros and cons of human existence for another time. "How did you lose your grace?"

"I don't remember exactly," Castiel says, exasperation evident in his voice. "I remember being present in a furious battle and it went dark without preamble, and then…"

"You woke up here," Dean finishes. 

"I'm unable to recall the details…" Castiel chokes out, his expression morphing into something close to pain. 

"Woah, stop straining yourself," Dean reaches out and guides him to sit on the couch. Castiel leans into him, though only minutely, the creases on his forehead slowly smoothing out. "You sit tight and I'll get you the soup, I still gotta make dinner though, spaghetti sounds good?"

"I have never had 'spaghetti'," Castiel replies, using air quotes to put emphasis on the word. 

A thin line forms between his brows and he looks down at his stomach, touching it tentatively as if it's going to explode in his face. A small growling sound startles the angel and he looks up at Dean.

Dean barks out a laugh, earning another confused stare, "That's hunger. You're hungry."

"Oh," Castiel mouths softly. "I assume I will need this spaghetti you were referring to."

"Well, you're lucky I'm an amazing chef," Dean pats his knee and stands up, making his way to the kitchen. "Don't want your first human experience to be spoiled by shitty food."

"I do not have any means of comparison, so I will have to take your word."

"Find out for yourself," Dean grins as he grabs two bowls of soup and heads over to the couch.

Cas has the blanket wrapped around him tighter, his legs folded on the couch in a crisscross applesauce, cocooning himself in the fabric. His dark hair is haphazardly pointing in every direction, and Dean's fingers itch wanting to smooth it down, or maybe mess it up a little more, who knows. He sets the bowl on the coffee table, pausing for a moment to see if the furniture's legs will buckle.

"Dig in, Cas," Dean says, grabbing his own bowl.

Cas untangles himself from the blanket and picks up the bowl, both his palms wrapped around the utensil. A soft breathy sighs bubbles past his lips and Dean feels himself smiling.

"It smells really good," Cas says, a small smile of his own ghosting on his lips. 

"Careful, it's hot," Dean warns, before he can stop himself.

"I know how temperature works, Dean," Cas says, though there is no trace of heat in the words. 

"Huh, dunno how much you know about how humans work."

"Enough, I believe," Cas says. "Though, humanity has changed tremendously since the last time angels walked the Earth."

The itch to nudge him on to expand on the topic claws against his heart but Dean pushes the thought away.

"Yeah, not for the better though." Dean says. "Music just keeps getting shittier and technology's getting more complicated. Sometimes I miss the 70s."

"When people were bigoted and life expectancy was lower?"

Dean snorts, "You got me there."

Cas smiles a little wider at that and lifts the spoon to his lips to take a small sip, his eyes falling closed and shoulders sagging further low into the back of the couch. Dean tears his eyes away, inspecting his own bowl of soup with newfound curiosity.

"It tastes good too, if I could say so myself."

"Secret Winchester recipe," Dean says, and adds without a second thought, "my mom used to make this when we were sick."

Cas hums thoughtfully, "Did she teach you to cook?"

"A little bit," he shrugs. "I did some exploring of my own when I had to learn to cook for Sammy."

"Who's Sammy?"

"Sam," Dean corrects absently, smiling fondly at the thought that his brother would've done the same. "Sam's my brother. He's back at home, in Lebanon."

Cas nods and places the now empty bowl on the coffee table, his hands instantly going back to his shoulders to pull the blanket close. Dean has to remind himself every few minutes that the man in front of him is literally an ancient cosmic being, but Cas makes it so easy to forget that. It doesn't take much to pretend like he's just a plain old Joe, though there is absolutely nothing plain or bland about him, every small feature standing out as quite peculiar in the best way possible. Dean knows if they had met under different circumstances, Cas would _still_ catch his eye.

He clears his throat and looks down at his half empty bowl and sighs.

"You wanna get a bit more sleep?"

Cas blinks up at him, taking a second to process his question, then shakes his head, "I could help you with dinner preparations…"

It's a hesitant offer, as though he's confused about his own ability to help, but Dean smiles the same.

"Nah, it's alright," he waves his hand, not having the mind to point out that Cas doesn't know the first thing about cooking, or food for that matter. "You could keep me company if you're not tired."

"I could," Cas confirms. "Although, I was told I'm not very good at keeping up a conversation."

"Who told you that?" Dean raises a brow, holding back a smile when Cas ducks his head. "You're plenty good, Cas, don't worry about it. Now go sit on the kitchen counter, it's the one place in this cabin I'm sure won't fall apart."

"Can I bring the blanket?" Cas asks quietly, sending Dean’s heart flopping around in his chest in one epic gymnastic routine.

"'Course. I could get you another if you're still cold,” he says.

Cas shakes his head, "No thank you, this is sufficient."

Cas follows him to the kitchen and hops up on the counter, both of them bracing for the thing to wobble. Dean grins proudly at his handiwork when it doesn't even so much as shake. He gets to work, absently humming along to some tune but he doesn't miss how Castiel's eyes follow his movements with such concentration that Dean’s sure he’s gonna pull out the bar graphs and flowcharts any moment. 

"So, what's heaven like?" Dean asks, biting his tongue a little too late. He expects Cas to get upset or angry at the sore topic, but all he gets in response is a tired sigh.

"Heaven is...different," Cas says. "It is more or less like a tree. There are many branches and new ones keep growing out and infinitely expanding. The infrastructure morphs itself into whatever it is that is needed at the moment's disposal."

Dean looks up at Cas, grinning, "Sounds like my dream place."

Cas cocks his head, "Why is that?"

"Well, I'm an architect," Dean replies. "A place that turns into whatever you want whenever you want? Freaking awesome, dude!"

Cas smiles softly, "I suppose it is."

"Only the blind knows the value of eyes," Dean says, grabbing a spoon and scooping up a bit of spaghetti sauce. Without much thought, he extends it to Cas, his brain catching only when the spoon is right in front of Castiel's lips.

Cas looks down at the spoon and back at him, "Wouldn't you be the better judge here?"

"That would just be peak narcissism," Dean says, weakly. 

Cas shakes his head, an amused look in his eyes as he wraps his lips around the edge of the spoon. Dean swallows, trying his best to keep his hands steady. Cas pulls back just as quick, a tongue poking out to lick his lips while Dean tries not to visibly choke on oxygen. _Get a grip, Winchester._

"It's delicious," Cas announces, and Dean knows it's not a half hearted appreciation for the sake of politeness. 

"Yeah?" Dean calls, backing away to the stove, ready to bury himself underground. 

"Indeed, unless my judgement is wrong."

"Nah, I trust you," Dean replies. "Sam never appreciates my efforts in the kitchen, but Eileen makes up for it, especially with the bun in the oven. I just can't wait for the kid to come out."

When Dean grins up at Cas, the former angel is staring back at him in confusion.

Dean laughs, "Eileen's Sam's wife. She's got a little one growing in her. I'm so excited, man, you have no idea."

A wave of worry crawls up Dean's chest, but he deliberately stomps it down, concentrating on the small smile on Castiel's lips. 

"The creation of life has always been fascinating, even when I have seen it happen over billions of years."

"I bet it is," Dean chuckles, knowing the joke will probably go right over Cas’ head.

Dinner is served and Dean asks Cas to scoot over, propping himself up on the counter next to him. They eat in silence, Cas glancing at his hands on occasion to copy the way he twirls the fork around to get a good enough bite. A strand hangs off Castiel's lips and Dean laughs so hard watching Cas go cross eyed trying to look down at it. He shows Cas how to suck it in and sure enough, the man spends the rest of the meal sucking in his spaghetti strand by strand.

Dean washes the dishes and Cas stands next to him drying them up, and all of it feels like warmth. 

But, the blissful silence doesn't last long.

"I need to find my siblings," Cas says in a rushed whisper, his hands stilling on the spatula he's drying up. "There is a war raging and I cannot stay here being useless."

"Can't be of much use in a war without your grace," Dean says. "What's this war about anyway?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about," Cas says. 

His tone is more cautious than angry, as though Cas is trying to protect _him_ from some secret and not protect the secret from him. The look of guilt on his face is enough to make Dean discard the subject.

"I can retrieve my grace with the help of my siblings," Cas continues. "It would be difficult, but it's possible."

"Is there any way to _contact_ them?"

"There is a spell…" Cas says.

"The Harry Potter kind?” Cas frowns at him, and Dean just shakes his head in resignation. "What do you need for this spell?"

Cas looks down at his feet, "A few basic ingredients...and my grace."

"Of course," Dean snorts indignantly. "Back to square one then."

Cas silently resumes drying up the dishes and Dean follows the lead, not knowing what to say to comfort him. 

Dean clears his throat, "You should go to bed, we'll figure something out in the morning."

"I shouldn't impose, Dean. This is your home." Cas says.

"Technically, it's this German dude's cabin that I bought from him because he was in a hurry to sell and go back to Germany for his dad's funeral," Dean replies. "So, no, you're not imposing."

"Dean—" 

"Dude, the closest motel's at least six miles down the hill and it's freezing outside," Dean cuts off the weak protest. "There's a perfectly intact cabin here, why all the trouble?"

Cas nods, a small smile splaying in his lips, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Dean says, snatching his laptop from the coffee table. "You wanna take a shower before going to bed?"

"I suppose I should…" Cas says, though it comes out as a question. 

"The heater is tankless so there's plenty of hot water," Dean says, cutting off that train of thought right there. "I'll grab you something to change into."

He ducks into the only bedroom where he had thrown his duffel earlier and grabs a pair of pajamas, clean boxers and a towel and heads back to the living room. Cas is standing where Dean left him, eyes fixed on the window where soft moonlight flows in through the cold glass pane.

"Hey," Dean calls softly, still somehow managing to startle Cas. "Shower's the last door down the hallway."

Cas collects the clothes from him, careful fingers holding the fabric as though they are eggshells. Dean watches him disappear through the door from the corner of his eye as he scrolls through his mails, absently scanning through the words. Benny and Victor had offered to take over his correspondence while he was away and Dean could only bother to give a weak protest. 

He lets his mind wander, the destination somehow being Cas. Dean can't comprehend how weird and uneasy it must feel—from being an _actual_ angel to having your life turned upside down and landing at the doorstep of some no name guy in the middle of nowhere. Cas probably misses his family and Dean comes to the bittersweet realization that he should help Cas find them, because Dean himself knows a little something about lost family.

The one unopened email still remains at the bottom of the list. He doesn't know if the strength to open it will ever come by.

A soft click of a door has Dean rising his eyes up to meet the soft blue ones he feels like he can't get enough of, as little as he has seen them. Cas stands leaning on the pole of the arch, dressed in Dean's clothes, his hair even more askew, a stray drop trailing its way down his neck.

Dean swallows audibly, aiming for a grin but ending up with a weak smile.

"Feeling better?"

"Vastly," Cas replies. "There was a spider in the shower and I think I accidentally drowned it."

The idea of Cas drowning a spider is not as amusing as the look of absolute remorse and sadness on his face—the same angel who is older than creation and has fought heavenly battles. Dean bites the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing.

"I did not intend to harm the creature, Dean," Cas says, sounding more exasperated. "I asked it politely but my ability to talk to animals seems to have disappeared along with my grace."

"You talked to the...you know what, C'mere," Dean says, patting the spot on the couch next to him. 

Cas walks over hesitantly and plops down on the couch, hands coming to curl around himself. Dean grabs Castiel's blanket from the arm of the couch and drapes it around his shoulder. The strange sense of warmth that makes home in his chest at the sight of Cas burrowing himself in the garment would've felt overwhelming, but Dean feels drunk instead. He had no clue where these strange little sensations are coming from, considering it's barely been a couple of hours since he found Cas.

"Dean?" Cas calls, a pinch between his brows. It's only then he realizes that he was staring this whole time. Dean ducks his head and pulls his laptop closer.

"I was thinking we could watch a movie or something," Dean says. "I've got some stuff on here."

"I'm familiar with this technology," Cas hums, squinting distastefully at the laptop. 

"Oh yeah?"

"There was a time when I was deeply injured during the war and had to be sent off to rest. I had nothing to do except watch over humanity," Cas says. 

Dean looks up at him, feeling fascinated. Cas knows nearly everything that has happened since the beginning of time and suddenly Dean finds himself insignificant. 

Cold fingertips land on his forearm.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Uh, I'm good," Dean nods, eyes fixed on the screen, trying not to be upset when he feels Castiel's touch withdraw. "Dude, I think we should start with Jurassic Park. It's about dinosaurs, but you've probably seen the real deal so you can tell me all the inaccuracies."

A small laugh that bubbles past Castiel's lips leaves Dean's heart to come to a screeching halt in his chest. 

"Yes, I have seen dinosaurs," Cas says, wistfully. "They _were_ among the most gruesome predators to walk this planet."

" _Among?_ " Dean balks. His brain is buzzing with a million questions about anything and everything. "Wait, are aliens real?"

"Aliens—"

"You know what, don't tell me," Dean waves his hand, clicking the play button. 

Dean expects Cas to jab at everything wrong with the morphology of dinosaurs or whatever, but Cas is enthralled in the movie, only occasionally grumbling about how improbable it is that the characters manage to survive this long.

"Wait until you get to the part were kids manage to not get eaten," Dean chuckles. "They're _kids._ "

"Actually children have the advantage of being smaller in size," Cas shoots back. "Besides, they are much more tactful than adults."

One of the characters from the movie screeches and Dean and Cas both jump' mirroring each others' expressions of realization that they haven't been watching the movie for a while now. The rest of the movie goes by as they sit next to each other in silence, a strange sense of warmth—delicate strands of golden swimming into the empty spaces—engulfing them.

By the time the movie is over, Cas is yawning hard, catching himself in surprise at the foreign action.

"Go to bed, you look beat," Dean says, nodding towards the one bedroom in the cabin.

"The couch will be sufficient enough—"

"Nope, none of that," Dean shuts him off. "You need better rest today. We can switch tomorrow if you want."

It's only a little later that he realizes the implications behind his words. He leaves that thought in the _burn that bridge when we come to it_ pile, and stretches himself out on the couch.

"If you insist," Cas says, powering through another yawn. 

He stops at the door to the bedroom, turning to look at Dean over his shoulder.

"I enjoyed the movie a lot," Cas says, barely a whisper.

"You wanna watch the rest of it some other time?"

"Yes, I would like that," Cas replies, the hint of a smile in his voice. 

Dean doesn't dare hope it's a reciprocated promise to his earlier claim— _to stay—_ because having hope always ends in a heavy plot of disappointment. He's not planning to jinx it this time if he can.

"Sleep well, Dean."

"'Night Cas, you too," Dean murmurs as sleep overtakes him.

* * *

It takes Dean a couple of minutes to get used to the unfamiliar air of the cabin around him. Early morning sunlight and the sound of birds chirping pours in through the window, which is a pleasant change from the sound of car horns that wake him up back in Chicago. Dean cranes his head, soothing down the kink in his neck from sleeping on the couch. 

As all of his senses come back to the land of the living, Dean remembers he has company.

Shuffles out of the couch, leaving the blankets bundled up behind him, Dean heads to where Cas is asleep. The door to the room is left ajar, but Dean still raises his hand and knocks tentatively. A strained whine comes in response, leaving Dean grinning widely.

"Good morning," Dean greets, a little too chipper. "Are you up?"

A stretch of silence later Cas responds, "Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean says, pushing open the door a little. Cas is lying on his stomach, blue eyes struggling to focus on him. He's so deeply buried in the blanket, Dean would've missed him if it weren't for the tuft of dark hair poking out from under the contrasting white comforter. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," Cas replies. "Is this the time I'm supposed to wake up?"

"It's not like you're _supposed_ to do anything," Dean chuckles. "I was planning to go out to get some groceries and I thought we could get you some clothes, pretty sure my pants won't fit you well. They might once we get some food in you, until—"

"Dean," Cas calls, catching Dean's attention. A small smile lights up Castiel's beautiful features and Dean feels his own face flush, added to the embarrassment from his mouth running ahead of his brain. "I will accompany you, though you are not obligated to care for me."

"Nah, but I want to," Dean spits out before he can stop himself. "Thought it'd be fun to spend a whole week _alone_ here but now I'm seeing how stupid it was. I'm glad you're here."

It's too much of his soul he's baring to a stranger, but Cas is good. Cas wouldn't judge him, Dean knows.

"Thank you, Dean. I appreciate your effort," he says, now awake enough to drag himself out of bed. 

He wearily smiles at Dean and wakes past him in the direction of the shower, leaving Dean feeling his gut flip in the most strange, but pleasant way.

Dean has two servings of bacon, eggs and toast ready by the time Cas shuffles into the kitchen, his hair sticking out at every turn and pajama bottoms bunching up at his ankles.

"That smells so good," Cas hums, scrunching his nose to sniff the air.

"Oh, it tastes better," Dean grins, grabbing two mugs for coffee. He hands one to Cas who cradles it in both of his hands, a sigh escaping into the sip he takes.

"Caffeine," Cas observes sagely. "I have tasted the berries and beans but they were always sour."

"What can I say, humans always find a way to sugarcoat everything," Dean shrugs. "Now go sit your ass down, breakfast will come right up."

God must be smiling to himself now as Dean's brain to mouth filter short circuits at the way Cas outright _moans_ at the first bite into his bacon. His exposed throat leaves Dean's lips wanting so desperately latch on to the soft skin and press kisses— _woah._ _Angel of the Lord. Heaven's soldier,_ Dean reminds himself—a futile effort since he finds that fact incriminatingly hot.

And that feels like a good segway in his head to talk about the talk they will have to at some point.

"So, you've got a game plan to find your way back to heaven?"

Cas looks up at him, a flash of something indecipherable flicker across his eyes.

"Not exactly," he says. "I suspect my grace must be close by since this is where you found me."

Dean blinks at him, "So your grace is just lying around somewhere?"

"My apologies, I should have explained that better," Cas leans forward. "When an angel loses their grace, it tethers itself to some force of nature. It could be any planet or galaxy, though from the very few cases of such an occurrence, most of the time it has been on Earth which might be due to this planet being so diversely alive."

"Cool," Dean says, eloquently. "How do we find this grace then?"

"My grace is my life force, I should be able to recognize its presence, though I should be able to do so only while present closely to it," he explains. "I do not sense its presence anywhere nearby."

"Let's keep looking then," Dean says, and adds for good measure, "Don't get me wrong, it's not because I want you out or anything. I just thought you would wanna go back to your family…"

The 'good measure' in question is Dean wanting Cas to stay. It's not just stupid, but downright ridiculous, some silly need for wanting to feel the way he does when Cas is around.

Except, it's not a simple silly need.

"I know, Dean," Cas smiles, a soft and warm thing.

An hour—and a short reasoning regarding why Cas can't bring a blanket along with him—later they are out of the door, the former angel dressed in one of Dean's henleys, black jeans that hangs a little low on his hips and a black zip up hoodie. Dean head is swimming in the feeling of Cas looking so in place in his clothes. 

"Where are we going?" Cas asks as they climb down the hill. 

"There's these bunch of shops down the road, sells the weirdest shit you'll ever see, you're gonna love it. It's all good stuff, and supports the local business so why not," Dean says. 

"That's very considerate of you, Dean," Cas says, and not a trace of sarcasm on his tone. "Is it very far?"

"You lazy ass," Dean chuckles. "We’re not walking, it’s too far. Besides, I want you to meet my Baby."

Cas stops in his tracks and asks very carefully, "You have a child?"

Two seconds to comprehend Castiel's question, and Dean is doubling over laughing.

"No, Cas, I have a car," he says between breaths. "Did you really think I left my kid down at the foot of the hill?"

"I never really understood why humans personify their belongings," Cas huffs.

"I don't know man, it just feels nice," Dean says, nudging his shoulder with his own. "Quit pouting you big baby."

"I'm not pouting, neither am I a giant infant."

Dean laughs, trying not to outright skip down the hill with the way warmth creeps up his skin. Cas doesn't offer the array of compliments Dean's dates usually throw leisurely at Baby, but a warm smile reaching his eyes splays across his lips and he trails his fingers up the hood.

Not that this is a date or anything.

The drive is quiet, Dean leaving the music away for another time, not wanting to interject the blissful silence. Cas stares out of the window the whole ride as though he's relearning the world, only pausing to throw occasionally glances Dean's way, something he wouldn't have noticed if he himself wasn't glancing at Cas to begin with. 

They pull up next to the tail end of the row of shops, deciding to work their way up. A look at the man next to him and Dean feels his heart climb all the way up to his throat. Cas looks like a kid in a candy store on Christmas and New Year and Halloween all at once, blue eyes bright and sliding past everything around them. 

"Go crazy, buddy," Dean chuckles, and that's all the permission Cas seems to need. 

Cas has a hundred questions to ask and Dean grows fonder of the angel with the way every answer lights up his whole face. Dean leaves Cas for a couple of minutes to get groceries—a lot of coffee at Castiel's special request—and returns to find his friend in a plant shop clutching a succulent in his hand.

"What do we have here?" Dean asks, coming to stand next to him. 

"Don't you think the cabin is lacking a bit of greenery?" Cas asks.

"We literally live in the middle of a forest, Cas," Dean says, though the protest is weak. Dean would give the man his own kidney on a silver platter if he asked for it. 

Usually, the thought of how insanely attached he feels to Cas would've freaked him out on any day that ends with a Y, but it somehow doesn't. It's only a matter of time before it comes back to bite Dean in the ass but he's helpless here. Cas holds all the reins by simply existing.

Cas looks up at him, blue eyes gleaming, "That's inaccurate, Dean."

"You're inaccurate," Dean mumbles, snatching the plant from Castiel's hands and walking to the counter to pay. 

The only thing left is to get clothes for Cas, and Cas leaves the job to Dean, his argument being that Dean has better experience at what is 'humanly appropriate to wear'. Dean rolls his eyes, internally grinning to himself at the prospect of getting to see Cas in a leather jacket.

Dean selects a couple of items and heads over to Cas, who has his eyes trained longingly on a light blue cardigan. 

"Who's grandma are you trying to be?" Dean asks, trailing his fingers over the fabric. It’s feels really soft.

"Are these worn only by grandmothers?" Cas question, the genuine curiosity in his voice making it so hard not to laugh.

"Just kidding, sunshine," Dean chuckles, grabbing the cardigan. 

The drive back to the cabin is accompanied with Led Zeppelin softly drifting out of the stereo, and Dean decides he's willing to take up knitting just to see the smile that stays on Castiel's lips all the way back to home.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Rain Starts to Fall**

"Have you ever felt as though you are lost?"

The question comes on a late Tuesday afternoon when Dean is sitting on the couch watching Pirates of the Caribbean, his legs propped up on Castiel's lap. They made it through the entirety of Jurassic Park in a movie marathon two nights ago, or rather Castiel's made it through the movies and Dean spend the time watching every little twitch and pull of Castiel's face, every soft gasp and scrunched brow, soaking up the time they have together. It was pathetic, he knew, acting out some stupid high school boy-crush fantasy with none other than an Angel. But Cas never gave him a moment to get a hold of his emotions, always sending soft smiles his way and leaving barely there touches that lingered on Dean's skin for hours on end, similar to the way his hands were resting on Dean's calf right now.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks, turning to look at Cas.

"Do you feel like you're… _untethered?"_ Cas muses, getting the look that universal look of not being able to express the words running around in his head. Dean doesn't know if Cas is talking about being human, his lost grace, or both.

"You mean as though you don't belong?"

Cas nods, "Something like that."

Dean draws in a breath, "Well, in school I always got along with people, but it always felt like something I was obligated to do—like a facade," he says, his next lines spoken while he watches Castiel's reaction. "When I realized I like both boys and girls it was downright terrifying, part of me thinking something was wrong with me and I spend months freaking out over a little slip up that would end up in my old man kicking me out of the house for being bi, or worse, being disappointed in me."

Cas cocks his head, "Why would your father's opinion regarding who you love matter?"

"Because we humans feel like we owe shit to the people who gave us a shelter and put food in our belly," Dean replies. "Not that John helped much in either of those but I still wanted that son of a bitch to be proud of me."

"Why would he not be proud of you? " Cas asks, confusion spreading across his features. "As your parent it was his duty to give you a home. If he made you feel like you owed him for your existence, then the wrong is on his part. You're an incredible man, Dean. There is so much about you that deserves praise. "

_ Goddammit.  _

Cas has no idea what he's doing to Dean, and it takes every fiber in his being for Dean to not reach out and kiss the man in front of him. 

Dean has spent—or rather wasted—his entire childhood and teenage years seeking validation from John, looking for ways to be the son John pretended he raised Dean to be. Sam got whiff of the situation earlier than Dean did and he didn't give a shit about what John wanted or didn't want. 

Dean was scared, something that hasn't changed much after all these years.

"Well, I thought I was a freak of nature or some shit," Dean continues, not sure if he's got anything in reply to Cas' honest words. "Realized it wasn't that melodramatic when I went out to college. It's not been that bad since then, 'course there are times when things aren't that great but I turn around and I've got people who care, people who sees me for who."

"You deserve that, Dean," Cas smiles at him softly. "After just a few days of your company alone I've realized how you give everything in you to the people you care about."

"Yeah, well," he shrugs, color crawling up his cheeks. He grins, "I ain't no angel. "

Cas rolls his eyes, "Consider yourself lucky."

Dean looks up at him, raising a brow in question.

"I was thinking about my existence so far," Cas says. "I have always felt different in comparison to the rest of my kin."

"Different how?" Dean asks, the movie ahead of them forgotten.

"I never striven for order even when angels were keen on commands, plans and strategies. I did what was necessary, yet there have been moments where I swayed, considering my choices beyond being the textbook definition of an Angel," Cas says, ducking his head with a deep sigh, "I'm so sorry, I might not be making any sense—"

"Hey," Dean slides his legs off Castiel's lap and drifts closer to Castiel's end of the couch. "So, help me understand. I know I've got a quarter of a brain of what's needed to get angelic discography into my head but you sound like you're having an identity crisis and I wanna help. So, talk to me."

Cas smiles coyly, and Dean knows he wants to see that smile everyday for as long as he gets to.

"Angels are very strict about hierarchy. Our kind finds it unable to work without structure—without having someone to take orders from," Cas says, a slight shade of distaste in his tone. "I never sympathized with that idea. In fact, I wanted to be free of orders and just observe the world and protect those who needed help. I wanted to be _free_."

He frowns, "That's supposed to be a good thing right?"

"Quite the opposite," Cas states. "It is highly frowned upon for angels to act under their own will, so of course I kept quiet. I always envied humanity and their willingness to strive against whatever boundaries they were forced to conform within."

"Dude, you're human now. You could do all that."

The split second of happiness from finding a solution to Castiel's problems disappear as he realizes that yes, Cas is human now, but that doesn't mean Cas wants to stay that way. Sure, he sounded like all the military ruling in heaven isn't what Cas wanted, but that doesn't mean stooping low enough to be a human, definitely not from the example Dean is setting him.

And that is why Castiel's answer surprises him.

"Perhaps I could," Cas says, a soft smiling accompanying the words. "I see how easy it is to fall in love with life when you are a human.  _ I feel. _ "

It's the way Cas says those words that makes Dean's heart beat wildly in his chest. He doesn't know the implications behind what Cas said but there is the same adoration that Dean has seen on Castiel's face when he waters his succulent or hums along to Dean's out of tune singing when they work together in the kitchen.

"It's okay, Cas," Dean says softly. "It's okay to feel, there's no one here to tell you what to do or feel. I never realized how easy I had it. I was always a coward, too scared to act on the things I wished for. You're not anything like that."

If Cas notices the way his voice quivers, he doesn't comment on it. Dean has never felt so drawn to anyone the way he feels about Cas, it's overwhelming, like standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at the world below him, and Dean so desperately wants to jump but he doesn't know if Cas will be there to catch him.

"Dean," an hand comes to rest on his arm, pulling an involuntary shudder out of Dean at the touch. "You are not a coward, quite the opposite, in fact. Existence is difficult no matter who you are and you're nothing but loving and considerate."

Dean lets out a self-deprecating chuckle, "You don't gotta say shit to make me feel better about myself, man."

"I suppose I don't," he shrugs, "though it's worth seeing you smile."

The hand on his arm slides down tentatively and doesn't stop until Cas' palm fits against his own. Dean feels the strange waves of familiar longing slamming into his chest, clutching at his strings with a vice-like grip. Lucky for him his anchor is right next to him, so Dean holds onto Castiel's palm, absently wondering how well their hands weave together, like the final two stars that were left to be aligned to shape the most beautiful constellation man has ever seen. 

After a stretch of silence filled with their mingling breaths and the chirping of crickets, Dean asks, "Why did you ask about feeling lost?" 

"How do you describe love?" Cas asks back, instead of answering his question.

"Pretty sure you know what love is, Cas," Dean replies, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

"Perhaps I know the love I feel for a honeybee, or an infant when they open their eyes to the world for the first time," he says, a far away look on his face. "But love has different forms and it's fascinating how humanity has so much of it to offer."

"It ain't rocket science or anything,"Dean shrugs. "You look at the people in your life and realize some among them makes you feel like you're home right where you belong, and that's pretty much all it takes to love them."

"I suppose that makes sense," Cas says, blue eyes bright as he looks at him. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For taking me in and giving me a—"

"Just stow it, Cas, we've been over this," Dean waves him off. "Alright, so how about chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner?"

"Of course, Dean," Cas says, a knowing smile on his face.

"You're on potato peeling duties," Dean says, noticing their hands are still weaved together, and uses that as leverage to pull Cas into the kitchen along with him. 

Cas stares at the potato Dean hands him like it ran over his grandma, and then proceeds to stare at the peeler with even more distaste. Dean bites back a laugh and slides closer to Cas, placings his hands over Castiel's.

"Here, let me show you," Dean guides Cas hand to peel a stripe of skin down the length of the potato, looking up at Cas who just smiles widely like he cracked the Zodiac killer's code. 

It's only then he realizes how close their faces are and Dean can't help but get lost in the blue of Castiel's eyes. A slight tilt of his face and their noses would bump and it's killing Dean not to close that small painful distance between them. Castiel's eyes are wide as his gaze flickers down to Dean's lips and back up to his eyes, inching closer, their breaths mingling.

_ This is it, this is the time he finally kisses Cas. So close, just a small tilt of— _

The oven timer blares like the goddamn Olympic horn and Dean jumps back, dropping Castiel's hands as a shudder runs down to his spine.

"Stupid fucking chicken," Dean mutters under his breath, stomping his way over to the oven. He grabs the tray and heads over to the counter looking anywhere but at Cas. It's stupid and childish but Dean never got the instruction manual regarding what to do when you almost kissed an angel of the lord. 

"What do I do with the potatoes now?" Cas asks from somewhere behind him. 

"Gotta boil 'em," Dean says, trying to keep the clipped tone away from his voice. Cas shouldn't have to deal with Dean's twelve year old schoolgirl bullshit. "You see that pot over there, far right shelf?"

"Yes, I do."

"Grab that and pour some water into it, put the potatoes in and leave it on the stove."

He hears the telltale sounds of Cas moving behind him as he slices up the chicken, pouring all his vengeance into the poor dead animal. His turmoil gets the better of him as one particular hard slice and he ends up cutting his finger.

"Fuck!" Dean hisses, dropping the knife. 

"Dean, are you okay?" Cas says, closing the distance between then in two long strides.

"Just a cut, I'll be alright," Dean says, smiling up at Cas, only to have that smile fade away at the look of utter mortification on Castiel's face. Dean thinks Cas might be one of those people who gets queasy about blood, but then he remembers that Cas hasn't been a  _ person _ for billions of years.

"Dean," Cas reaches to take his bleeding finger tip in his shaking hands. "I should be...I can't…"

"Cas, look at me," Dean grabs his shoulder with his free hand, "It's just a small cut, man, nothing to freak out about."

"I can't heal you," Cas says, his voice so small Dean feels his heart shatter. "If I had my grace I could heal you...You're hurt but I can't help—"

"Cas," Dean tries again with another shake of his shoulder. "You  _ can  _ help me. The drawer beside the bed has bandages in there, bottom one. Can you get one for me?"

Cas nods, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, releasing Dean's had to leave the kitchen in haste. Dean sighs, leaning back against the counter. Cas is quiet most of the time but when he talks he's bossy and mouthy about what he wants which is a sheer contrast from just a couple of seconds ago when Cas looked so afraid. The small card tower of hope in Dean's chest shatters when he realizes Cas would want nothing more than to get his graze back, to be that powerful cosmic being he once was. It shouldn't hurt this much, but it does anyway.

"Here," Castiel's voice startles Dean out of his thoughts. His blue eyes are less wide and panicked and he's holding the band-aid in his hand, ready to wrap it around Dean's finger.

Dean holds his hand out, letting Cas do the work hoping it would ease his friend a little more. Sure enough, Cas is focused at the task on hand as he wraps the band-aid around Dean's finger and cradles his wrist, inspecting further. Dean holds back a chuckle and lets Cas take his time until the grip around his wrist loosening reluctantly.

"I'm sorry for 'freaking out'" Cas says, putting the words in air brackets. 

"It's alright, sunshine," Dean smiles at him, pointedly ignoring how many times he has let that nickname slip off his tongue in the past few days. "I'll be more careful next time."

"You better be," Cas says, the inherent cockiness back in his tone. "I don't find it pleasant to see you injured."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, mom, next time I'll let you kiss my boo boo away."

"What?" 

"It's this thing parents do," Dean says. "Kissing wounds to help them heal better."

Cas reaches for his wrist, raising a brow at Dean, "Does it work?"

Dean's breath hitches and in a moment of bravery he spits out, "Why don't we find out?" 

It's all the permission Cas needs to tug at his wrist, a small smile on his lips. He holds Dean's gaze, lifting his hand up to press a kiss to the tip of Dean's finger. It's quick and chaste, ending way too soon. _Son of a bitch._

"Did it help?"

"Yeah," Dean breathes, letting out a stream of air he didn't know he was holding in. "Thanks."

With that, Cas drops his hand and heads over to tend to the potatoes without another word. Dean sags against the counter, his heart rattling against his ribs like rocks in a tin can.

God help his soul, he's too far gone.

* * *

It's when they venture into the territory of horror movies that Dean learns—much to his delight and Castiel's frustration—that Cas absolutely  _ hates  _ jump-scares. He would stare at the ghost's ugly face without batting an eye but the moment of anticipation that leads up to it has him clinging to Dean's arm.

"I don't like this," Cas announces, only an hour into The Exorcist. "I'm going to bed."

"Cas," Dean chuckles, grabbing his arm to stop him. "It's just eight o'clock and this isn't even that bad."

"It's similar to being in a battlefield, you always have to anticipate an attack."

Dean shakes his head, laughing, "I'll be your knight in shining armor then, come back here now."

Cas huffs dramatically but climbs back onto the couch, sitting closer to Dean than earlier. With every passing moment, Dean has found himself drifting closer into Castiel's space and he almost lets himself think that Cas too gravitates towards Dean. 

"How are you not even a bit afraid," Cas asks, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"I've been watching these with Sammy since we were kids. Halloween night was always me, Sam and Jo huddled up together marathoning slasher movies," Dean replies.

"You don't do that anymore?"

"Nah, everyone's got a busy schedule," Dean shrugs. "Besides, Halloween in New York isn't exactly the same as the Kansas experience."

Cas opens his mouth to say something but there's a sudden yelp from the television and he jumps, gripping Dean's arm tightly. Dean snorts, extracting his arm from Castiel's grip and wrapping it around his shoulder. Cas stiffens under his touch and Dean starts to pull away, an apology already at the tip of his tongue, but then he relaxes, even leans into Dean's touch.

"Relax, sunshine," he says softly. Cas doesn't look at him, but the small smile on his lips is a good enough indication that he's listening. 

They sit like that for a while, Cas pressed against his side and Dean's hand rubbing his shoulders every time he startles. It's all so stupidly domestic, but when Cas sighs and drops his head on Dean's shoulder, he knows it's as perfect as it can get.

"Dean," Cas nudges him, pulling him out of his daydream. "Your phone is ringing."

"Dammit," he mutters, reaching for his phone. The caller id shows it's Sam and Dean remembers another crisis he has been temporarily averting for a while now. "Cas, I've to get this, you can pause if you don't wanna watch alone."

Dean snags his phone and heads to the kitchen, pressing down on the green button. Sam's form becomes visible on the screen, Eileen right next to him.

"Hey guys," Dean smiles, remembering fondly how much he misses them. "How is the bun coming along?"

_ "It's baking well, I hope,"  _ Eileen signs. _ "How are you, Dean?" _

Sam chuckles, "Look at him, he's glowing. Looks like the vacation is going well."

"Shut up," Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm doing good, really good actually."

" Wait, I know that look," Sam states, not pausing for a moment. "Who's the girl, or guy?"

_ "You picked someone up in the hills?"  _ Eileen signs, brows raised as she leans back against her chair, _ "winter of love, huh?" _

Dean has been putting off this conversation for as long as he can, contacting Sam only through texts and keeping the details to the dot. His time with Cas is like a delicate bubble making him feel as though anyone outside of their little world knowing about it would cause that bubble to burst, all of it crashing down on Dean. He wanted to keep this to himself but Dean knows once the inevitable heartbreak strikes, his brother and sister-in-law's arms are the ones he would have to go back to. 

"More like he landed in my front yard lying unconscious on the ground," Dean shrugs, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

Sam frowns, "Sorry, what did you just say?"

"I was out walking and found this guy lying unconscious in the snow," he rushes out. "And we're not a thing or anything, that's not gonna happen."

His brother blinks at him, "You're joking right?"

Dean looks to Eileen for help, desperately asking her to pull out the listen-to-me-because-I'm-your-wife card. Sam opens his mouth but Eileen beats him to it.

"Do you know anything about him?" Eileen asks, her hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Enough," Dean says.

"Enough to catch feelings," Eileen chuckles.

"It's not like that, Lee," Dean sighs. "I mean, we're not a thing or anything. It won't happen."

Dean rubs a hand over his face, "He's an angel."

_ "I'm sure he is."  _

"No, he's actually an angel," Dean leans forward, catching Sam's attention. "Remember the stories mom used to tell us about grandpa Samuel meeting one."

_ "Dean…" _

"I know I sound like I'm insane but hear me out, 'kay?" he pleads. "Uh, his name is Cas. Castiel."

Twenty minutes and a very confused Sam and Eileen later, Dean drops his chin in his hand, the air stuck in his lungs finally finding a way out. 

"You let a fucking stranger stay with you?" Sam barks.

_ "Language,"  _ Eileen snaps, whacking Sam behind the head, other hand on her belly as though she’s trying to cover its ears. Dean's glad his brother married a firecracker. _ "Dean, are you buying what he said?" _

"Angels haven't been on this planet since decades ago, babe," Sam snaps. "He's either a nut job or—"

"Sam, enough!" Dean cuts him off in a tone Sam knows is the final word. "I trust Cas. For one, he's been here for five days and he hasn't axed me yet. Second, he gave me the full story without shuffling around and if you met the guy you'd know how he is."

"Can we meet him, then?" 

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean sighs, "I gotta ask him, and if he says no, it's a no."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam holds his hands up in surrender. "You don't have to go around defending his honor, we have talked to people before."

"Well, he's not exactly people."

"He is now," Sam counters, and then amends, "according to what he says."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Just don't bring up the angel topic, I think he's still mad he can't go back. And, no funny questions. Behave."

_ "We're not cavemen, Dean,"  _ Eileen laughs. _"We'll be nice. Promise."_

"I know _,_ ," Dean mutters. "Can't say the same for your Sasquatch."

Sam grins, "I will tell Castiel about the time you climbed up Bobby's roof and—"

"I will skin you alive," Dean snaps, pointing a finger at Sam, whose grin only grows wider. 

Eileen sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, "Boys, not now."

"Yes, ma'am. Now you two shut your mouths," he grabs his phone, puts it on mute and heads back to the living room. 

Cas is sitting on the couch, the movie still playing faintly. The laptop is far away on the coffee table and Castiel's knuckles are white with his grip on the arm of the couch. 

Dean clears his throat, "You alright, Cas?"

Cas jumps, blue eyes wide as he looks at Dean, "Oh, you're back."

"Uh, yeah," he stutters, bending down to hit the pause button. Cas stares at him, head cocked to that perfect angle that says he's yet again confused by Dean's actions. He sits down next to Cas, taking his hand in his.

"Now, you can always say no if you want to, no pressure," he begins. "You have to do this only if you want to."

Cas frowns, "Do what?"

"So, remember I told you about Sam and Eileen?" Dean asks, "Well, they wanna talk to you."

Castiel's features stiffen a little, "Oh."

"You know what, you don't have to do this," Dean starts to get up, "This was a stupid idea."

"Dean, wait—"

"It's nothing, Cas, don't worry about—"

"Dean, listen," Cas grabs his elbow, tugging him back to the couch. "They're your family, Dean. Of course I would love to talk to them."

"You sure?" Dean raises a brow. "You don't have to do anything just because it's me.

It's a little bit of a reach but something tells him Cas agreed to talk to Sam and Eileen out of some sort of gratitude for letting him stay. They have had that conversation more than once, but Cas seems hell bent on thanking Dean every ten minutes for absolutely nothing, but if that's what it takes to get Cas to stay, Dean selfishly lets him do his thing.

"I know, Dean," Cas says, a fond smile on his lips. "I would have told you so if I were uncomfortable with the idea."

"Good. That's great," Dean fumbles, reaching for his phone lying on the coffee table. He un-mutes it, shifting closer to Cas and holding the device facing them. 

"Guys, this is Castiel," Dean introduces, "Cas, this is Sam and Eileen, my somewhat cool family."

"That's not true, Dean. You think very greatly of them," Cas says, tone serious though etched with fondness, and turns back to the screen. "Hello, Sam and Eileen, it's good to see you."

_ "Nice to meet you too, man,"  _ Eileen signs _. "Hope you're doing okay." _

"Yes, thank you," Cas signs back.

Dean blinks at him, "You know sign language?"

"I know all languages," Cas throws him a split second glance, only to turn back to Eileen. "How are you and the child doing?"

"They're good," Sam cuts in, speaking for the first time. 

He's got that calculating lawyer eyes boring into Cas, and a part of Dean wants to snap at him to be nice and the other part wants to laugh. He does neither since Sam, Eileen and even Cas has voiced the opinion that Dean coddles people a lot, and he's not going to prove their point. 

"That is good to know," Cas answers, squirming slightly. 

"So Dean says you are an Angel?" Sam asks, and Dean internally vows to piss on everything he owns. 

"I used to be, not anymore," Cas shrugs. 

"Must be hard fitting in," Sam says, slipping back into his soft tone because, after all, his brother has a heart to match his frame.

"It's not been as hard as I had expected," Cas says, with a glance at Dean. He ducks his head, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks knowing where this is going. "Your brother has been really welcoming and considerate of my needs."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm just looking out for my buddy."

Sam and Eileen share a conspiratorial look, something Dean doesn't want to touch within a ten foot pole.

"Yeah, he's like that when he really likes someone," Eileen chuckles, earning a glare from him. Unfortunately, she knows Dean can never be mad at her.

"Guys, we can do this some other time," Dean says, leaving a hand on the small of Castiel's back. He smiles when Cas leans into the touch, his shoulders drooping. "We're beat, gonna head to bed."

Sam's expression softens, "Have fun you guys, we'll call later."

Dean sighs and hangs up, turning to look at Cas.

"Sorry about them, they can be a little over the top sometimes, especially Sammy."

"They're lovely people, Dean. Exactly what I expected from your family," Cas remarks. "Though, I have a feeling your brother is not very pleased with me." 

"Sammy's just a big softie, man," Dean reassures. "He's doing that lawyer thing where he's trying to analyze the chances of you hacking me with a chainsaw in my sleep."

"I would never do something like that, Dean," Cas says, sounding genuinely concerned. "Why would Sam think—"

"Cas, hey," Dean chuckles, grabbing his shoulder. "He's just being a bitch, don't worry about it. I know you won't hack me in my sleep."

"I'm glad we have figured that out," Cas says, his telltale cocky grin back in place. "I assume it's getting late."

"Yeah, I'm kinda tired for someone getting over eight hours."

"Perhaps it's because you are sleeping on the couch," Cas says. "From my experience, the bed seems more comfortable."

"Yeah, well, it's your turn on the bed today. Don't worry about me."

"The bed is big enough for us to share, you don't have to sleep on the couch," Cas says. All the air gets knocked out of his lungs and Dean just stares at Cas, feeling that weird little swoop in his gut.

"Oh…" Dean replies eloquently. 

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Cas adds urgently. "I just wanted you to sleep well."

"Yeah, we… we can do that. That'd be nice," Dean fumbles with his words, snapping his mouth shut before he can spit out anymore nonsense. 

They go by their nighttime routine, moving easily around each other in the bathroom, glancing at each other in the mirror occasionally. Cas is smiling a lot more than usual and Dean thinks—at the risk of sounding like John Keats—that it's far better than every sunrise he's ever witnessed. 

They crawl onto bed together, Cas on the right side and Dean on the left, tugging the covers up to their chests. On a whim, he reaches under the covers to find Castiel's hand and threads their fingers together, his heart thudding in his ears as he waits for Cas to respond. Only a second later Cas squeezes his hand softly. 

"Is it true?" Dean asks.

"Is  _ what  _ true?"

"That you know all the languages?"

"Yes, of course," Cas says. "All angels are imprinted with such knowledge."

"Okay, say something in Russian."

_ " _ _ Ty prekrasna _ _ ,"  _ Cas mutters, amusement lacing his voice.

Dean turns to the side to glance at him, "Did you just call me a bitch?"

Cas shrugs lightly, "I guess you will never know."

Dean barks out a laugh, heart growing three sizes just by being in Castiel’s proximity. The air grows colder as the night goes by, but Dean is surrounding my warmth inside out. He falls asleep faster than usual that night, the dull rhythm of Castiel's breathing pulling him under.

* * *

When Dean blinks his eyes open the room around him is still dark, the quiet chirping of crickets and a pleasant weight on his shoulder filling his senses. Cas has his forehead pressed to Dean's bicep and his palm resting flat on Dean's chest, eyes moving wildly behind his eyelids, probably lost in some dream. With a familiar churn of his gut, Dean realizes how well they fit together, like two pieces of broken glass mended close to be one. With every passing minute, the moment when Cas finds his grace and sets off to work out whatever it is that heaven usually does looms closer and closer over them. Dean can only wish he could stop time, just hold Cas close to him and forget the world around them. 

It's a risky jump, not knowing if Cas feels even a fraction of the way he does, the odds being against Dean. Cas has seen the primal stage of humanity, witnessed civilizations rise and fall. Dean is just a worm compared to everything Cas has seen and experienced. It hurts, but Dean knew that, he always did. 

He tips his head down to press a kiss to Castiel's hair and lets his head fall back, the auburn glow of the ceiling filling his vision as he falls back asleep.

Next time he wakes up, it's to the soft stream of sunlight flowing in through the window. Cas is turned away from him, their legs still tangled under the sheets. 

"Morning, Cas," Dean greets, nudging his leg.

"Hhnngg," Cas says in reply, burying his head deeper under the covers. 

Dean chuckles, extricating himself from Cas and sits up on the bed. Cas mutters something under his breath that vaguely sounds like his name. Dean leans down, pressing a kiss to Castiel's temple, earning a soft sigh from the man beneath him. 

"Do we have anywhere to be?" Cas asked, muffled by the pillow.

"Wanted to take Baby for a drive, her battery's gonna freeze otherwise," Dean says. "The plant shop is on the way, just saying."

Cas rolls over, a soft laugh bubbling from his chest, "You don't have to bribe me, Dean."

"I know, but I like your Gloxima," Dean says, running his fingers through Castiel's sleep rumpled hair. The invisible lines between them seem to be blurring every passing minute, but Dean is too wrapped up in his hoax domestic bliss to care.

_ " _ _ Gloxinia, _ _ " _ Cas amends with fake annoyance, turning to look at the plant perched on their windowsill. "Now that you mentioned it—"

Dean barks out a laugh, shoving his friend playfully, "Yeah, yeah, get up now. I'm starving." He  rolls out of bed, chucking when he sees Cas turn around and go back to sleep. 

Breakfast turns out to be him and Cas perched upon the kitchen counter eating cereal. Cas downs more caffeine than anyone should ever consume in their lifetime directly from the pot, grumbling about why there is never enough coffee. Dean thinks about buying Cas his own coffee machine and then remembers that Cas isn't his boyfriend and this isn't Full House.

"You remember that Chinese place we went to?" Dean asks as they head into the city. 

"Yes, the waitress there kept calling me 'blue eyes'," Cas replies, fiddling with the stereo. If it was anyone else the cops wouldn't have found their body, but Cas gets a pass. He always does.

"Yeah, she was hitting on you," Dean says absently, remembering how he was tempted to tip her less just out of sheer spite. "Anyways, do you wanna go there for lunch?"

"Sure, as long as you don't get angry when the waitress 'hits on me'."

"What-no I wasn't- _ shut up, _ " Dean smacks him on the shoulder. "I'll just let you sit there and squirm this time."

"Maybe, this time…" Cas starts, the grin on his face growing wider, "this time, I might take her up on her advances."

If there were any lamp posts around, Dean would have run them into it. He stares at Cas, mouth hanging open. 

"You know what, we're getting takeout."

"I'm only joking, Dean" Cas chuckles. 

_ "I'm only joking, Dean," _ he mocks in a high- pitched voice. 

Cas laughs harder at that, turning to catch his gaze, "Dean, she's not who I want."

The silence that falls in the car takes all the air in the world with it, leaving Dean's chest feeling tight. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Who do you want, Cas?"

Cas reaches his hand up to press against Dean's cheek, "Please watch the road, Dean," he murmurs softly, turning his face.

Soon as they pull up, Cas disappears, only to turn up with another succulent, a green thing with spikes but not exactly looking like a Cactus. His eyes shine bright blue, even more pronounced because of the blue cardigan he's wearing. Cas nearly throws himself on Dean when he sees the grey socks with small cacti printed on it in Dean's hand, the hug lasting less than mere seconds, Cas being flustered by his own unexpected action. Dean just laughed softly and presses a quick kiss to his temple in passing, all while his legs threaten to melt into a puddle right then and there.

"I think I understand why humans get attached to inanimate objects," Cas hums on their way to the restaurant.

Dean grins, "You gonna stop making fun of me for calling my car 'Baby'?" 

"No," Cas says simply. "Perhaps I should name this plant so that you can mock me in return."

Dean snorts, "Got any names?

"What about Rosie?"

"Rosie, the cactus," Dean muses, "got a ring to it."

"Thank you," Cas turns to him, grinning. "Now the Gloxinia is going to be jealous that I didn't name it."

"It's a plant, Cas. Those things don't have feelings."

"I wish they did," Cas mutters. "It's unfair that only the animal kingdom is sentient."

"You'll have to take that up with the big man upstairs," Dean shrugs. "'Sides I don't wanna wake up to find our goddamn plant can talk, so no, let them be the way they are."

"Before you met me did you believe in angels?" Cas asks, the abrupt change of subject giving Dean whiplash, even when it's not the first time this has happened. 

"Uh, not completely," Dean replies, eyes fixed on the road. "My mom used to tell me stories about how my grandfather ran into one. She used to say how angels watched over me and Sammy before she tucked us in."

"What happened to her?" Cas asks, softly.

Dean swallows, ignoring the clawing in his throat, "She died after giving birth to Sam. I don't remember much, it all just happened so soon."

"I'm sorry," Cas murmurs. "How old were you when she…"

"Four," he says. 

"Do you remember her?"

"Yeah, almost as clear as yesterday," Dean sighs. "Dad always said I had her eyes when he got drunk past the stage of yelling at me."

"Why would he—"

"I don't really know," Dean shrugs. "Dad's been out of his right mind since Mom…"

Cas sighs, "It must have been hard to lose someone like that."

"Was hard on me too, and I was just a squirt back then," he grumbles, something about Cas making him want to bare his soul to the man. "Had to look after Sammy when I was just four while John spent time with his old friend Johnnie. Dammit, that just makes me sound like a shit brother."

"No, it doesn't," Cas says, a warm hand on his shoulder. Dean reveals in the touch, blinking hard at the itch behind his eyes. "I can tell how much you love your brother from the way you talk about him. Having to carry a burden like that at a young age, no matter who the person is, must be incredibly wearisome."

"Sammy must've had it worse—"

"I don't think so," Cas cuts him off. "You were there for him but you had no one. I'm not invalidating his suffering but Sam was not old enough to remember what a safe and content life felt like, but you had all of it ripped away from you. That is something unbearable for a child."

Dean swallows, eyes burning as he clutches the wheel tighter, trying to shake himself out of the morbid turn the conversation has taken. Cas always knows the right things to say and Dean wants to pull over and bury himself in the man's arms. The ache pokes and prods at his chest harder each time but he doesn't do anything. It's better this way.

"I'm glad you're here, Cas," Dean murmurs, his own voice barely audible.

Cas squeezes his shoulder, "If it helps, your mother was right. Angels have always been watching over you."

"Got one of my own now, don't I?" Dean grins at Cas, ignoring the empty weight the words leave on his heart.

"I'm not an angel anymore, Dean," Cas says.

"Yeah, but you'll be soon," he says, the chipper in his tone so forced, his throat feels raw, "once we find your grace."

"Yes," Cas murmurs, looking down at his hands resting on his lap.

"Oh, don't be like that man, I promise you we'll find it," Dean says. "Did you get anything from anywhere we have gone by now?"

Cas shrugs, staring out of the window, "I told you it won't be easy."

Dean sighs, "Well, I don't quit."

Lunch is uncharacteristically quiet, Cas poking at his meatballs looking up only once in a while to throw cold glances Dean's way. Dean runs and reruns everything he said to Cas in his head, trying to figure out if he messed up somewhere. 

"Cas, talk to me," Dean says, nudging Cas leg where it's hanging off the arm of the love-seat. 

Cas doesn't take his eyes off the screen, "What do you want me to talk about?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Something's bothering you."

Cas glances at him, raising a brow, "Besides you?"

"Fuck off," Dean flops back on the couch. "What's going in that head of yours?"

"Electrical signals, I believe."

Dean groans, "Come on, Cas."

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas sighs. "A little tired perhaps."

"We'll drive around a little more tomorrow to see if something catches your senses," Dean says. "You said your grace should be close by. Don't lose hope."

"I'm glad you know how important it is that I leave," Cas says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Dean doesn't say anything in reply, just gets up and heads to the bathroom to freshen up. He picks up his phone, a part of his nighttime routine to check for any messages from Sam, Eileen or Jo. He unlocks the phone and sure enough, a couple messages from Sam are waiting.

**[Sam] 8:54pm:** _ Dean, you think I'm gonna be a good  _ _ father? _

**[Sam] 8:56pm:** _ Actually don't answer that. _

Dean rolls his eyes, typing out his response.

**[Dean] 10:28pm:** _ You're gonna be great Sammy. Don't  _ _ work yourself up. _

**[Dean] 10:29pm:** _ What train of thought led to this? _

Dean twirls the phone in his hand between his thumb and middle finger, waiting for Sam's response—deep inside he knows what it's going to be—at the same time, the lingering uneasiness from his earlier conversation with Cas ramping up as the seconds lick by. His phone chimes, pulling Dean out of his thoughts.

**[Sam] 10:33pm:** _ Dad. _

Dean sighs, the single word twisting into a knot in his gut.

**[Dean] 10:35pm:** _ You're not him, Sam.  _

**[Dean] 10:34pm:** _ If anything, I'm gonna be the one to  _ _ turn into a grunt like him. _

**[Sam] 10:35pm:** _ You gotta stop doing that, comparing  _ _ yourself to Dad. Just because he taught  _ _ you some shit, doesn't mean you are  _ _ him. _

**[Dean] 10:37pm:** _ Dammit Sammy, don't try to lecture me  _ _ when I should be lecturing you _

**[Sam] 10:38pm:** _ I'm good now, sometimes I just think  _ _ a lot. _

**[Dean] 10:39pm:** _ That's new. _

**[Dean] 10:40pm:** _ Get some sleep, Sammy. You can  _ _ think about your dad skills once baby  _ _ Dean is here. _

**[Sam] 10:41pm:** _ Still not gonna do that, jerk. _

**[Dean] 10:42pm:** _ Your loss bitch. _

**[Dean] 10:42pm:** _ My kid's not gonna be a Sam or  _ _ Samantha, just telling ya. _

**[Sam] 10:43pm:** _ Thinking about kids huh? _

Dean runs a hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as a soft breath bubbles past his lips. He could see the picture painted behind his eyelids; white picket fence, two and a half kids and a dog, the perfect family. The warmth seeps into his heart, growing, growing and swiveling akin to a soft summer breeze. He's holding a hand, a familiar warm hand. Somehow Dean knows the hand belongs to Castiel. For once he wishes it would hurt, just to remind himself how out of his reach his dream was.

Dean glances towards the bedroom door Cas disappeared behind, knowing it's not the only barrier between them.

**[Dean] 10:46pm:** _ Yeah. It sounds nice. _

**[Sam] 10:47pm:** _ How's Cas doing? _

**[Dean] 10:47pm:** _ Went to sleep. He's holding up okay I  _ _ guess. _

**[Sam] 10:48pm:** _ Don't smother the guy like you do to  _ _ everyone, get him to sleep on the  _ _ couch once in a while. _

Dean presses his teeth against his lower lip, a chuckle escaping his throat on its own accord.

**[Dean] 10:50pm:** _ We both sleep in the bed. _

**[Sam] 10:51pm:** _ Oh? _

**[Dean] 10:52pm:** _ Not like that. We just sleep, you know. _

It takes a while before the phone chimes.

**[Sam] 10:56pm:** _ You've got it bad. _

**[Dean] 10:56pm:** _ I know. _

When he goes back to his  _ (their?)  _ room, Cas is lying on the far end of the bed, turned towards the wall. Dean hesitates a moment, staring at the empty space Cas left for him, before shutting his thoughts out and climbing in next to him. 

"You seem tense," Cas says, not a question but a fact. 

Dean doesn't bother denying or trying to find out how Cas knew even without looking at him.

"Just some stupid thoughts," Dean replies. 

A moment of silence later Cas says, "Your thoughts are never stupid, only unhealthy sometimes."

Dean huffs a laugh, "You know how to make a guy feel good."

"Your habit of avoiding your feelings with humor is infuriating."

"Stop psychoanalyzing me, asshole," Dean chuckles, clearing his throat aiming for a more believable tone and says,"Seriously, I'm good." 

He finds Castiel's hand under the sheets and squeezes, trying not to be upset when Cas doesn't squeeze back. It's a long couple of hours before he goes under, the faint sound of wind blowing past lulling him to sleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this was a bitch, took me hours. Any idea what Cas said to Dean in Russian? ;)  
> Anyways, see you next week, hope all of you are doing well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Like Real People Do**

The clink of the coffee pot somewhere behind Dean is the only indication that Cas is awake. The bacon sizzles unceremoniously in the pan and Dean keeps his eyes glued to the task at hand, not wanting to cross any more lines than he thinks he already has. Cas doesn't come to stand next to him to peep over his shoulder like he usually does, nor does he grumpily ask why Dean didn't wake him up to help him cook. 

He just moves around quietly.

The air around them grows thicker as the silence between them stretches, pulling Dean's heart in all four directions, strong enough to make it hard to breathe. Cas prods at his eggs, and Dean digs his nails into the meat of his thighs to quench his need to reach out and touch the man next to him; to offer some sort of comfort for the unseen turmoil that seems to have wiped away the smile from Castiel's eyes.

They wash and dry the dishes standing side by side, yet it feels as though they’re a whole world apart.

He clears his throat, "Cas—"

"I'm going to take a walk," Cas cuts him off.

Dean sighs, "Any destination in mind?"

"I just need to find some indication of my grace."

Dean's heart clenches, "I can drive you…"

"No thank you, you have done enough for me," Cas says coldly. "You need not chaperone me."

"It's not chaperoning, man!" Dean snaps. "What's gotten into you?"

"It is not of importance," Cas replies, muted. 

Dean runs a hand through his hair, "Look, I know what I feel don’t mean shit to you and you have no moral obligation to check in with me or whatever, but you can't act like you're some superior being and I'm just some cockroach."

An unreadable expression hides behind the glare Castiel throws him. Dean shifts his weight on his feet, wanting nothing more than the earth to just split open and swallow him whole.

"Is that what you think of me?" Cas asks, taking a step closer to Dean. "You believe I consider myself above you?"

"You  _ are  _ above me," Dean says, his voice sounding several pitches high to his own ears. "I'm just a guy, you're—"

"Another 'guy'," Cas finishes, and Dean would've laughed at the air quotes if those lightning blue eyes weren't glaring him into silence. " _ You  _ seem to forget I'm also a human just like you."

"Doesn't mean you're planning to stay that way," Dean states, staring right back at Cas. Maybe them pushing each other away would make the inevitable separation easier. 

Castiel's fingers flex against his side, and for a moment Dean thinks he's going to get punched. Dean can taste the sparks in the air, crackling between them in rampant anticipation for something unknown. Seconds stretch into seasons, and Dean and Castiel stand there, eyes locked in a staring contest with seemingly no finish line. He swallows down the knot in his gut and takes a step closer, just as Cas does the same, now close enough that he can see the way Cas' pupils widen.

"Cas..." Dean starts, not sure what the next words are supposed to be. 

When his eyes wander up from it's unannounced detour to Cas' lips, he finds his friend’s eyes glued to his own lips.

A loud ringing breaks apart the electric silence in the cabin. Dean swears under his breath, the moment broken. Cas takes a step back from him, a stoic mask falling over his expression, leaving Dean feeling empty and cold in a way that has nothing to do with the weather. He sets his jaw, turning to look at his traitorous phone lying on the table. 

Whoever it is, Dean's going to kill them. 

He stalks over to the desk, stomping harder than usual against the old wood. Looks like it's time to murder his brother.

"It's Sam, I gotta…" Dean says awkwardly.

Cas nods minutely, "Sure, I will go on that walk now "

"Uh, yeah. Cool," Dean sputters, inwardly slapping his own forehead. "Don't forget to grab your coat, it's snowing a lot today."

Cas doesn't reply, leaving the silence hanging heavy between them. A few moments later the soft sound of the front door shutting reaches Dean's ears, the empty cabin wringing the air out of his lungs.

Dean pressed the answer button on the call, "What do you want?"

"Jesus, who crawled up your ass and died?" Sam asks, amusement lacing his voice. 

"Sorry," Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "It's nothing, forget it. How are things there?"

He can hear the wheel turning in Sam's Stanford polished brain. Finally he indulges Dean, "This one case is driving me up the walls."

"The rich douchebag one?"

Sam snorts, "You'll have to narrow it down a bit more. Remember the case with the Romans?" he asks, and continues before Dean can answer, "The DA is calling in one of Roman's clients and I'm prepping my questions for him."

"You gonna win the case?"

"I can't conclusively say anything right now, but there's a good chance the client is gonna crack. Even if not, all the evidence against Roman and the complaints against him from the residents are strong enough."

"He's a dick bad, ain't he?"

"Dick bag, and if my intuitions are right, a murderer," Sam says. "There was this woman who wouldn't accept his compensation and wanted the apartment repairs done, and two weeks later she…"

"You think…"

"The case came to a dead end within a week, Dean," he says through gritted teeth. "It's a known fact that Roman pays off the cops and he wants nothing more than to sweep up the properties once the residents are either evicted or leave on their own. This woman wouldn't leave and now she's…it just makes sense, you know."

"Jesus," Dean sighs. "Can we talk about something less depressing?"

"Sure, how's Castiel?"

Dean groans, "I said less depressing, Sammy."

"Oh," Sam sighs, "Talk to me."

"I would if he talked to me first," Dean sighs. "He's been all clamped up."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't—why the fuck do you think I did something?"

"Mainly because you two only talk to each other," Sam provides helpfully. "Still don't know if I buy his story, but, if he's been an angel all this time and suddenly he's gotta eat, sleep and walk, that might throw a guy off."

Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, "I don't know what to do."

"Maybe stop walking on eggshells around him," Sam says. "Tell him how you feel. Who knows, maybe he would want the same too."

"Are you hearing yourself?" Dean snaps. "He wants to find his grace and be an angel again, that's what he wants. Not some dumb human who he's temporary roommates with."

"Did he say that?"

"He's out on a walk trying to get some lead on where his grace is hooked," Dean says, throat tightening. "What do you think?"

"I don't know him like you do but the one time I saw you together I could see how he looked at you," Sam says. "Beyond all that, I know my brother. I've never seen you look at someone like that. You look like you've found something good, Dean, don't let that go."

Dean clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm to reroute the burn bubbling up behind his eyes. The mere thought of waking up next to Cas everyday makes him want to cry out with happiness, because Sam is right, Dean wants to belong with Cas so much it hurts. He wants Cas to be the one that finally clicked.

Dean wants Cas to be his home.

"I can't hold on, Sammy," Dean mumbles, breath rattling in his chest. "He's got better things to do, I'm just a bump in the road."

"You gotta stop putting yourself down like that," Sam quips. "Ever bothered to stop and ask Cas what  _ he  _ wants?"

"He wants to go back to being an angel, that's what!" Dean snaps. "This fucking sucks."

He hears Sam's long drawn sigh from the other end of the line, "I'm sorry, man…"

"Yeah, me too."

"You really love him, don't you?"

The mirthless chuckle that spills out of him surprises himself, "I think I do. A lot."

Sam exhales deeply, "You're gonna be okay, just get back home earlier. We'll spend Christmas together, that should cheer you up."

"Yeah, sure," Dean nods, and adds before Sam can shower him with any more pity, "Bye Sammy, tell Eileen I said hi."

He can practically hear Sam roll his eyes, "See you soon."

The line goes dead and waves of exhaustion rolls off Dean's shoulders. He presses the heel of his palm against his eyes, stomping down the tears threatening to spill. The door opens with a soft creek and Cas steps in, hair tousled by the wind and flakes of snow glued to those dark strands.

He looks breathtaking.

"Find anything?" Dean asks, voice raw against his throat.

The now familiar silence falls again and Dean peaks at Cas, not having the energy to sit up. Cas pulls off his coat and throws it on the arm of the couch like he has a personal vendetta against the thing. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, messing up the strands even more. 

"I can't do this," Cas says in a murmur. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"Can't do what?" Dean slurs.

"I thought it would be easier than this, to pretend the feelings away," Cas grouses. "I never anticipated my control to slip away like this."

Even when Cas' words don't make a lick of sense, the stubborn anger and frustration in his voice strikes a chord within him. 

"The hell are you talking about?" he asks, now sitting up.

"I can't pretend it's nothing, Dean," Cas snaps, his gaze meeting Dean's. 

Dean shifts uneasily, the blue of Castiel's eyes burning holes through Dean's skin. A storm of confusion, hurt and  _ something else  _ indecipherable churns in his gaze, leaving Dean breathless. He's off the couch and walking towards Cas before his legs can register the movement. He reaches out to touch Cas, to offer some form of comfort, but his hand freezes mid-air like a broken branch sticking out of a tree when Cas visibly flinches at the prospect.

"Michael used to tell me how wonderful it is to feel," Cas says, more so to himself. "He used to describe how his short few years on Earth was the most beautiful experience of his life, even surpassing creation itself."

Dean's legs stay glued to the floor as he asks, "Who's Michael?"

"Archangel, Commander of my garrison," Castiel replies, absently. "I was perplexed when he said there was a different love to be felt, unlike anything that the angel kind has ever felt before. I never thought...I never realized…"

"Never realized what?" Dean prompts.

Cas' eyes reflect a deep sadness that Dean never wants to see in that gaze, "Don't do this to me, Dean, " he chokes out, " _ Please. _ "

"Cas, you gotta talk to me, man," Dean pleads. "Tell me what's going on?"

"You keep pretending as though you don't know."

"Because I don't!" Dean snaps. "Goddammit, Cas, I'm not a fucking mind reader!"

Cas glares harder, the look sending extremely mixed signals to Dean's anatomy. He steps forward into Dean's space, involuntarily making him back away towards the wall. A hand lands on his chest, holding him down, but Dean's sure his legs won't move even if he tried; not when Cas is looking at him like  _ that _ .

"Cas," Dean swallows with a click, his brain to mouth filter momentarily on the fritz.

"I was a warrior of heaven, I spent the tangible eternity being a soldier and carrying out my assigned duties. My mind is still that of an Angel, but you…" 

Dean opens his mouth to speak, only no words come out.

"I look at you and I...I feel," Cas says, voice strained. "I have seen the ends of the earth and back but I look at you and all of it seems insignificant. You make it all seem irrelevant."

Dean blinks at him uselessly, mind swirling like a whirlpool, his thoughts too cluttered to catch hold of. Cas takes a step back, his hand leaving Dean's chest to run through his own already disheveled hair. 

"There is so much I don't understand about my emotions, but with you it's all simple," Cas says. "All through eternity I have felt lost, but the moment I opened my eyes all those days ago, I no longer felt untethered. I felt like I belonged, Dean."

"You do," Dean murmurs breathlessly. "'Course, you do, Cas."

"I have never felt like this," Cas grazes over his comment, wringing his hands together, and somewhere in the back of his mind Dean fondly registers that the habit was something Cas picked up from him. "In you I see everything humanity was meant to be. You're caring, compassionate and one of the most beautiful gifts of creations I have ever witnessed."

Dean balks, "Cas, I don't…"

Cas laughs softly, "Neither do I," he says. "I'm overwhelmed with the way I feel about you, and a huge part of it is way beyond my understanding…"

This time Dean steps forward, raising his hand to Castiel's shoulder, "What part do you understand?"

Cas blinks, "What?"

"You said there is so much you don't understand about... _ your feelings _ ," Dean reiterates. "What is something that you're sure of?"

"That I want to kiss you," Cas murmurs, not missing a beat.

"Then," he slides his palm down to rest over Castiel's heart, "kiss me."

Blue eyes like storms stay locked with the green of his own, the world around them fading into a muted blur in the back of his mind. The thud of Castiel's heart under his palm grows harder, matching Dean's own, like canaries trapped in a cage, wanting to be set free. 

_ Wanting to go home. _

It could have been a second or a century before they gravitated closer, Dean doesn't know. He doesn't care. When Castiel's lips meet his, it's like the first ray of sunshine on a cold winter morning. It's oasis to a drained traveler, first drop of rain to a horn-bill, voice to the deaf and colors to the blind. 

It's everything to Dean.

Their lips pull apart, their hearts don't. Dean doesn't want to open his eyes, not as long as his hand rests against Castiel's beating heart and the other man's stays pressed to the curve of his shoulder. Dean wants to wrap himself up in that feeling until all the loose ends of the storm on his chest binds down.

Cas chuckles softly, "What are you doing to me, Dean?"

"Gotta ask you the same thing, Cas," Dean laughs, feeling dazed.

Castiel's hands cup his cheeks, "I owe you an apology"

Dean shakes his head, "Not in this life."

"You're too kind, I should never have been hostile to you," Cas says. "I was terrified of the hold you have on me.”

"You mean this don't you?" Dean asks. "This— _ us _ . Tell me you want this."

"More than I have ever wanted anything."

"Then nothing else matters," he replies, arms circling Castiel's waist to pull him into another kiss.

* * *

Dean tries hard to keep his eyes open, eyelids heavy as his head swims in euphoria. It gets harder as the movements of the hand in his hair softens, the slow background score of Titanic swimming into his ears. Dean nuzzles deeper into Castiel's stomach where his head rests, feeling too much warmth and  _ home  _ grazing like soft waves of ocean against the walls of his mind.

"Rose needs to stand a little farther from the railing if she does not wish to die," Cas says suddenly, startling Dean.

"What—" Dean slurs, dragging his knuckles over his eyes. "She's not gonna die, Cas."

Cas hums, his hands pausing the soothing motion in his hair. Dean whines softly, earning a chuckle from Cas as the fingers begin combing through his hair. His hands trail lower, sliding down the back of his neck to his shoulders. Cas rubs small circles, massaging in slow rhythm, leaving Dean feeling like a giant floating blob. He sighs, blinking hard to focus on the screen.

"Is that okay?" Cas asks in a whisper, his whiskey warm voice rumbling deep from his chest into Dean's skin. "How are you feeling?"

"Wiggly," Dean replies.

"Excuse me?"

" _ Wiggly, _ " he repeats, a content sigh escaping his chest. "Feel like I don't have any of my bones."

"I can assure you that all your two hundred and six bones are intact," Cas says, matter-of-factly, though Dean doesn't miss the amused smile in his voice.

"Thanks, baby," Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to Cas' stomach. "Look, the ship's about to hit the iceberg!"

"You seem a little bit too excited at the prospect of such a tragedy."

"She coulda fit him on the door so I don't feel bad, it's on her," Dean shrugs. 

"I despise the ocean," Cas murmurs.

"And there goes my beach vacation plans."

"You planned a beach vacation?"

Dean swallows, wrapping his hand tighter around Cas. 

The truth is, Dean has thought about so much more than just a beach vacation. He has thought about kissing Cas on the rooftop of his office in Chicago, the city lights stretching far and wide around them, the glow having nothing on the bright smile painting the angel's face. He has thought about taking Cas to watch the stars, their hands and legs tangled as they stare at the sky, back resting against the hood of the Impala, to press kisses down the stretch of warm skin on Cas' neck in the backseat; to kiss him at the movies and to hold his hand at the goddamn farmer's market.

There's a lifetime in his hands, only Cas wouldn't be there to spend it with him.

"Just kidding, Cas," he says. "Why're you afraid of the ocean?"

Cas makes a pained noise, "Angels are generally very evasive towards bodies of water."

"You get sea sick or something?"

"Or something," Cas reiterates. "We find it impossible to swim as our wings weigh us down."

"So y'all can drown?"

"Sink, perhaps. We— _ They  _ cannot die."

Dean sits up between Cas' legs, sliding his hands up to cup his face. He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Cas' lips. He feels Cas smile against his lips, his hands circling Dean's shoulder. It's comfort both given and taken, their lips sliding against each other in a way making it feel like there is no other body either of them should be wrapped around. Dean hums, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, surrounding himself in the feeling of Castiel, the rest of the world around them like water on ink.

"Now you've got the chance to learn to swim, so you'll be fine," Dean says when they pull apart.

Cas' expression turns soft, eyes bright as he says, "I love you, Dean."

The world comes to a screeching halt, the only voice reaching his ears being the small laugh that bubbles past Cas' lips and the only sight filling his vision being the stormy blue of Cas' eyes, crinkled at the corners.

"You seem surprised."

"Cas, you…" Dean trails off, his thoughts floating around in his head. "You love me?"

"Of course, I do," Cas frowns. "Why would you doubt _ — _ "

Dean surges forward, cutting off Cas with another kiss. Strings of golden warmth make home in his chest, leaving Dean clutching Cas tighter to keep him afloat. Cas' hand thread into his hair, shooting lightning down to his spine.

"I love you," Dean murmurs against the angel's lips. "I love you so much."

Cas smiles, a gentle and breathtaking thing. Warm hands rest on the curve of Dean's shoulder, thumb rubbing smooth circles on the skin, each touch leaving millions of sparks buzzing under his skin in its wake. Blue eyes so soft and bright look back at him, the soft pull of their breaths being the only noise filling the cabin. 

"You're incredible, Dean," Cas says. "I look at you and I'm left speechless."

"Cas," Dean grunts, ducking his head. "So, wings huh?"

The slight pinch of Cas' brows is enough indication that he knows Dean is changing the subject, yet he complies.

"I'm sure you must have seen the illustrations," Cas says. "There was a time similar to that of now, when angels had never walked on earth. Humans envisioned us as cherubim figures resting in the clouds with halos and harps."

Dean snorts, "Harps?"

Cas shrugs, "Once we presented ourselves on Earth, the outlook changed for the better. Humans were satisfied to know that they were right about the wings at the least."

"What are your wings like?"

"Dark, the color of my hair if I say so," Cas explains. "Not many angels have such wings."

"Yeah, I've only seen the white ones in the pictures," Dean says. "I bet yours are better."

"They are just odd."

Dean dips his head, pressing a line of soft kisses up Castiel's neck to the sharp cut of his jaw. Cas curls his hand into Dean's hair, sighing softly.

"You're amazing, sweetheart," Dean murmurs into the hot skin under his lips. "Your wings, your eyes, your heart, all of you, angel."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. "Michael used to tell me how my wings were something to be proud of. He has always been proud of me."

"Michael sounds like a good guy."

"He was someone I looked up to, someone who I could depend on," Cas says. "He told me I was different, and asked me to embrace it when the time came, I'm not sure what he meant but the war happened and..."

"You never told me what this war is about," Dean prompts, staring up at Cas.

Cas sighs, "I don't want to trouble you, Dean."

"Please," Dean pokes his ribs. "Tell me, I won't tell anyone else."

"You're insufferable," Cas mutters, the gentle smile on his lips giving him away. "Around a century ago, five different rifts opened, scattered around different parts of the planet. You need to understand, anytime a rift opens, it is to another part of the universe."

Dean nods. "Where did this one open to?"

"These five rifts were gates to hell."

" _ Excuse me? _ " Dean stutters, choking on his own tongue. "Like, demons with horns and Satan kinda hell?"

"Not every description is accurate, Dean, case in point," Cas chides, gesturing vaguely at himself. "Demons are capable of resembling humans the way angels do, even more so at advantage since their wings are not manifested in this plane."

"So you guys were fighting demons this whole time?"

"Precisely," Cas says. "We have been trying to seal these rifts back. Demonic power, unlike angelic, is weak. Fighting exhausts them, and once they retreat back to hell and we manage to seal the rifts, the leftover demons roaming the Earth can be dealt with."

"So anyone could be a demon?" Dean asks, eyes wide. "Any regular Joe on the street might be a horned bastard?"

"You're not wrong," Cas says, like he's talking about the weather.

"How do I know you're not a demon?" 

Dean bits his tongue a little too late, expecting Cas to get offended, but he just laughs, "I wouldn't be telling you this if I were a demon."

"I don't have a holy cross to confirm your legitimacy so I'm just gonna take your word for it."

"I think the human expression of 'take my word with a grain of salt' would be appropriate here, since demons react negatively to salt."

"Then, you're in the clear," he grins. "I salt all our food so you shoulda gone up in flames if you were one."

"It's not that dramatic," Cas rolls his eyes, another habit he may have picked up from Dean. The way his whole body moves with the action is so goddamn endearing. "It's the reason why I am restless. We managed to close three of the gates before my…"

"Hey, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Dean assures, rubbing up and down Cas' arm.

"It's alright," Cas smiles. "I'm sure the angels will be able to complete the task without me."

A single question still remains unanswered, hanging heavy between them— _ what now? _ —and Dean doesn't want Cas to leave so he keeps his mouth shut. The bridge ahead of them is one long road of potholes and thorns, getting closer and closer until the time to burn it will inevitably fall over their heads like an anvil, but for now, they're good.

"Good," Dean smiles back at him, buds of hazy bliss unfurling in his heart. 

Later that night as they fall into bed, bodies pressed close to each other, mouths slotted and hands dragging across skin, somewhere in the back of his mind Dean wonders his significance in this world. Dean is a lost bird and Castiel is the cosmos poured into a jar, alive and captivating under his arms, like strings of pure intangible wonder dragging him down the precipice of the unknown. When Cas murmurs his name like a prayer against his lips and follows with the most gentle kiss, Dean  _ knows  _ he's more than ready to fall.

"Feeling good?" he asks as they lay side by side, sharing soft smiles in the dark. 

"Wonderful," Cas says in a whisper, cupping Dean's cheek, "I love you, Micaloz."

Dean frowns, "Who?"

"It means  _ light  _ in Enochian," Cas says. "The language of the angels."

"Sap," Dean grins, basking in the love they feel in that moment, threads of shimmering light weaving their bodies and hearts together. Dean tucks his head under Castiel's chin as his entire existence narrows down to the man in his arms.

"I love you, Cas," he murmurs, the ghost of a kiss pressed to his forehead lulling him to sleep.

* * *

Dean leans against the door frame, rocking back and forth on his heel, the tray in his hand pouring sweet aroma into the room. It takes only a couple of seconds for Cas to stick his head up from under the blanket, eyes still close and nose crunched as he sniffs the air like a cat.

"Mornin' handsome," Dean grins, "sit up for me, would ya?"

"What?" Cas asks, which comes out more like a garbled noise.

"Look what I bought you," he slides into the bed as Cas rolls around under the blankets to a position that's half vertical. 

Cas tilts his head, "Why are we eating in the bed?"

" _ We  _ are not doing anything," Dean says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Castiel's cheek. "Breakfast in bed, sweetheart."

"As opposed to breakfast on the kitchen counter?" Cas grins up at him.

"Stop being a bitch or I'll eat them myself," Dean grouses, elbowing Cas. "Your wonderful boyfriend cooked you breakfast and—"

He's cut off when lips press against his, a harmonious sigh escaping their lungs. Cas brushes his lips against his and Dean doesn't do anything to deepen the kiss, content the way their lips move against each other like they have been doing this for years.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas murmurs against his lips, amusement springing in his bright eyes. "Boyfriend, is it?"

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, ducking his head, "It's fine if you don't like it, I we can work with—"

"I love it, Dean," Cas interjects, his expression fond. “Now, can I have my breakfast?”

Dean rolls his eyes and places the tray carefully on Castiel's lap, watching the corners of his mouth pull up into a smile. Cas dumps a mountain of maple syrup on the pancakes and cuts into it, shoving a piece into his mouth. Dean leans back against the headboard, chuckling it the soft moan that pushes past Castiel’s lips. 

“Keep making those sounds and you won’t get to finish your breakfast,” he says.

“Interrupt my breakfast and I will smite you,” Cas mutters around a mouthful of pancake, table manners being one of the few habits he picked up from him. 

“I’ll let you eat it off me.”

Castiel’s hand stops halfway in the air and he glances at Dean, a brow quirked his way. 

“Jesus, Cas, I’m kidding,” Dean breathes out between fits of laughter. “Maple syrup gets all sticky and I just took a shower.”

“Perhaps another time,” Cas shrugs casually and resumes making googly eyes at the pancakes.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to Cas' temple, and slides out of bed. "I'm gonna clean up the attic, some of the German guy's crap is still up there. Might find a thing or two we could use." 

Cas makes a humming noise around the fork in his mouth and Dean grabs a broom and heads to the attic. The stairs are as creaky as it can get but Dean trusts Benny's handiwork, not to let Dean fall and break any bones. 

Sunlight pours in through the porthole, making the flakes of dust in its path dance in the air. Dean sneezes into the crook of his arm and ties the towel hanging on his shoulder around his face, covering his nose and mouth. Cleaning has always had some kind of a therapeutic effect, but poking through the stuff some German guy left behind is not exactly the same. Stacks of wooden boxes—around eight of them—rests against the far end of the wall. He dusts the boxes and lines them in the floor once he's done, pulling the towel off his face. The first box has a ton of plastic flowers in them, splashes of red, yellow and white—roses, daffodils and lilies—filling the whole entire space. Dean picks up the bundle and holds it at arm length, giving it a hard shake to get all the dust off, placing them in a free box to be moved to the porch.

The next few boxes are all clothes and haphazardly scattered postcards, haste words crawled out in German, some signed with a tiny little heart drawn next to the name. Dean smiles, stacking the cards up and placing them inside the box of flowers. The floor downstairs creeks with the noise of Cas moving around the cabin. Unlike him, Cas has a routine for everything, from morning coffee to reading on kindle—which Dean subscribed to just for him—in the afternoon to helping Dean cook dinner; Castiel is always a constant presence around him even when their interests don't intertwine. The cabin and the forest around them is their own snow globe filled with every single memory of theirs from the time he hauled an unconscious Cas up the front porch to their first kiss in the living room; his world nothing but the moments he shared with Castiel.

Everything feels right,  his heart feels at home, and Dean could easily believe he's dreaming.

He clears the boxes one by one, opening the last one to find a small radio. There isn't much hope of getting any signal up here but he whips up the silver antenna, tuning the radio through the static until a somewhat tangible murmur of words echo through the speaker, only to fade away into static a few seconds later. 

"Dean!" The door bursts open and Cas climbs up, worry painting his features.

"Cas, what's wrong?" Dean asks, dusting his pants as he gets off the floor. 

Cas holds out his hand, Dean's phone clutched in his fingers, "Sam needs to talk to you."

Dean's blood runs cold, heart suddenly jumping to his throat. He takes the phone from Cas' hand and presses it to his ears, ignoring the way his voice shakes as he calls, "Sammy?"

"Dean, thank God," Sam sighs, and Dean knows his brother well enough to sense even the slightest hint of worry hidden in his voice. "I just brought Eileen to the hospital, she fainted at work…"

"Goddammit," Dean grips the phone tighter, ears throbbing with the sound of blood rushing in them. "What did the doctor say?"

"Don't know yet, they just took her in," Sam chokes out. "Dean, I'm scared. She—"

"Sammy, stop," he cuts him off, not having it in himself to think about anything other than Eileen and the baby making it out healthy. "She and the baby are gonna be fine, don't work yourself up before you even know what's going on. I'll get tickets for the next flight, just hang in there until then."

"Dean, no, not yet," Sam disputes. "I'll call if something's... just stay put for now. I need to learn to hold up on my own."

"Dude, you don't have to—"

"I know," Sam says. “I’ll be okay, you don’t have to fly over, man.”

"Fine," Dean sighs. "Call me as soon as you hear something. Don't think too much and drive yourself crazy."

"Yeah, alright," Sam breathes out. "Thanks, Dean."

"It's nothing, Sammy," he lets out the air in his lungs he didn't know he was holding in. "I'll call you later, just take it easy, alright?

Sam hums absently, "Bye, Dean."

Dean presses the heel of his hand against his hand against his eyes, sharp pressure building against his temples. An arm slides around his shoulder and Dean jumps, only remembering now that Cas has been in the room this whole time.

"We gotta get a bell on you," he chuckles weakly, leaning into Cas' touch.

Cas frowns, his confusion morphing into concern, "Are they alright, Dean?"

"Eileen's in the hospital...it's probably nothing but I can't help but worry," he mumbles, turning to rest his head on Cas' shoulder. Strong arms wrap around his middle, holding him closer against the sturdy warmth of Castiel's chest. "Sammy might be losing his mind, can't blame him."

Cas runs his hand up and down Dean's back, "Is this because of what happened to your mother?"

"Sammy still blames himself for that, he might act like he's fine but I know him," Dean mumbles against Cas' shoulder. 

Cas guides them both down to sit on the floor and Dean lets himself be held, wanting to wrap himself around the feeling of Cas until his mind stops buzzing. Cas shares the silence with him, running his fingers through Dean's hair until all he can do is melt against the touch.

"I tried to love the kid as much as I can, still do," Dean says into the fabric of Cas' shirt. "It was hard, once mom died I had to step in 'cause lord knows Dad would've cared about nothing more than drinking enough to burn a hole through his liver. I was just four, Cas, I didn't even know how to button my own shirt…"

Dean didn't know what he was talking about, even more so he didn't know  _ why  _ he was saying all this right now. Something about Cas makes him feel like—for the first time in his life—he doesn't have to be the shoulder everyone leans on.

"It must have been unimaginably hard for a child, yet you cared for Sam and still do," Cas says softly. "You're the most loving man I have ever met."

Dean chuckles, "Haven't met many people, have you?"

"I don't need to," he replies. "From everything you have told me I know how much you care for your brother."

"Wasn't all me, once he was good enough to stand on his own feet, Sam pretty much raised himself. The kid worked hard to get where he is right now."

"He had you to show him the right path, Dean," Cas states. "You raised him to be strong enough to carry his own weight and taught him everything he needed to shape his future, sacrificing your childhood in the process."

"It's no big deal," Dean shrugs, pressing a kiss to the curve of Cas' shoulder. "I'm proud of him."

"And, I'm proud of you both."

Dean can't help but smile, "Means a lot, sweetheart."

"May I ask what happened to your father?" Cas inquires, hesitation in his voice. "I'm sorry, you don't have to—"

"It's alright," Dean pulls back to look at Cas, breath dying in his throat at the look of understanding and adoration on his face. He clears his throat and looks away, fingers still intertwined with Castiel's. "It was just three months before my high school graduation, the son of a bitch took off without a word, leaving me and Sam with nothing but each other."

"He left you?"

"Yeah, just like that," Dean shrugs. "Ever since mom died he's been a ghost, floating in and out of our lives whenever he felt like. We had a dad on paper, that's all. I was kinda relieved when he left, I was scared there would come a day when I slipped up and failed to protect Sammy from him…"

His voice sounds raw in his own throat, clawing at the walls with nails dripping acid. A hand cups his cheek, thumb rubbing wetness off his face, which is only when Dean realizes he's been crying. Cas is here, warm and solid, and Dean's heart aches so hard he can't breathe.

"Did he ever hurt you?" Cas asks, anger masked by the comfort he pours into his words and touches.

"When he got really drunk he'd start mouthing off about how Mom should've been here instead of Sam," he breathes out. "I couldn't let the kid hear all that so I'd say something to piss him off enough to throw a punch or two at me, enough to distract him from saying all that shit."

Cas jaw tightens, sad blue eyes looking at him, "You can't let yourself get hurt to protect the people you love, Dean."

Dean sighs, "It was a long time ago, we all turned out fine. That's all that matters."

"It's clearly affecting you still," Cas says. "Perhaps you haven't let go of your father's influence on your life."

"You're starting to sound like the shrink I never had," Dean chuckles. "I've put him in my past Cas, at least I try to. It ain't easy when I don't even know if that fucker is alive or not. All I've ever gotten from him is an email that I still can't bring myself to open."

"Maybe you should," Cas says. "Maybe, closure is what you need."

Dean doesn't say anything in reply, just leans forward to press a kiss to Cas' lips. He feels Cas smile into the kiss and run his tongue against Dean's bottom lip, deepening the kiss. They sit there for what feels like hours or days, lips against lips, the whole world fading into a soft melody in the background. The whirlwind of emotions in his chest flicker and fade off like a stray flame, gentle warmth taking its place. They pull apart, foreheads touching, smiles soft and careless.

"I found a radio," Dean says, picking up the metal box and holding it in his lap. "Signal's not all that good up here."

Cas reaches out to fiddle with the knob, turning it until the first cords of a familiar song flows past the speakers.

Dean grins, holding out a hand to Cas, "Wanna dance?"

"Of course, Dean," Cas takes his hand, his smile mirroring his own. 

_ Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is La Vie en rose… _

Dean wraps one hand around Castiel's waist, taking his hand in the other. Cas apparently has done this before, since he takes easy steps to match the rhythm, stormy blue eyes holding Dean's gaze captive.

_ When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I see La vie en rose… _

"I have always found this human custom to be very endearing," Cas says softly. "It's even more enjoyable with you."

"Wait until I start stepping on your toes," Dean laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to Cas' lips. "I love you."

_ When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart _

_ A world where roses bloom... _

"And I, you," Cas murmurs against his lips. 

_ And when you speak, angels sing from above, everyday words seem to turn into love songs... _

Anything that the future holds for them doesn't matter in that moment, when it's just Dean and Castiel in each other's arms, swaying gently to the music that surrounds them like an embrace full of affection and promises. In that moment their hearts are one and their love holds them up. 

_ Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be La vie en rose... _

Everything else can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because I'm loading this fic with fluff doesn't mean it's gonna stay that way. Or it might, who knows?  
> Also, shout out to Hozier for being there for me when I can't make up a chapter title.
> 
> Leave kudos and comments, it's my fuel.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Turn of The Earth**

"Cas," Dean whispers, shaking his shoulders. "Wake up, sweetheart."

"Go away," Cas sneers, burying himself deeper under the covers. 

Dean snorts, leaning down to press kisses to Cas' shoulder, "I wanna take you somewhere. I promise it's worth it."

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Dean stage whispers. "Please, baby."

Cas lifts his head off the mattress, squinting his eyes so hard he thinks Cas is about to start scratching Dean's face off. Finally, Cas sighs and slides out of bed, dragging his feet to the bathroom while muttering incoherently under his breath.

"You better not be bad mouthing me in Enochian," Dean calls, and adds when he hears Cas' laugh, "I'll start making references you don't understand."

"Sorry to let you know but you've been doing exactly that this whole time," Cas shouts back.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, heading to the kitchen to pack a bunch of things for the trip. He's halfway stuffing the second basket with containers of chicken salad and left over bread casserole cushioned between thick blankets, when the radio he brought down from the attic starts up out of the blue, filling the cabin with crackling static.

"The fuck?" he frowns, fiddling with the knob until the thing shuts off.

His annoyance seeps away as a full body weight presses up behind him, arms coming to rest around his waist.

"Why are we awake this early?" Cas murmurs ruefully.

In his defense it's awfully early and the cabin is dark and quiet, not even a bird up and about. Dean laughs, reaching back to thread his fingers through Cas' hair. 

"Trust me, babe," he grins, knowing how much Cas hates the pet name. "We've been cooped up here for so long, thought we could spend the day outside."

Cas hums softly and Dean can feel his smile against his skin. He rocks his hips forward, grinding against Dean in slow and barely there rolls, "That's very thoughtful of you, Dean."

"I'm gonna be less thoughtful if you keep doing that," Dean breathes out, not doing much to stop Cas. "We gotta get going, man."

"I'm sure we have some time to spare," Cas says, punctuating the words with a sharp roll of his hips.

Dean growls, spinning them to push Cas up against the counter. He drops to his knees, lifting his sweater and the shirt underneath to mouth at the sharp lines of Cas' hip bones. Despite his hurry, he sucks Cas down, taking his sweet time to imprint the gasps and moans that push past Cas' lips into his memory—the rise and fall of his chest as he comes down from his orgasm, lips red and eyes wide.

He winces when he stands, staring down the barrel of thirty and already sore from kneeling for some time showing he's due for some workout. He doesn't have to hold himself up as Cas grabs two fistfuls of the front of his shirt and hauls him into a bruising kiss, his hands wandering down to the front of Dean's jeans.

"I'm good," Dean catches his wrist, grinning when Cas throws him the combination of a pout and a glare. "Seriously, we have plans."

" _ You  _ have plans," Cas amends, extricating himself from Dean's arms. "My plans can resume once we are back."

He chuckles, "I'd love to be your concubine but we’ve got places to be so get moving.”

“A shame,” Cas says in mock ruefulness.

Dean grabs a basket, smacking Cas’ ass on his way out, “I’ve created a monster,” he laughs.

It's colder than he had anticipated, moonlight shining bright, the stars painting the sky like dust, dull from the impending sunrise. 

"Are we not driving?" Cas asks as they head direction away from where Baby is parked. 

"Nah, we're going uphill," Dean says, grabbing Cas' hand and intertwining their fingers.

The sky turns a shade of navy blue that gets paler as it stretches to the other end, rays of soft yellow light pouring in from the sun hidden at the horizon. A thin sheet of snow lines the ground, making the whiteness glisten under the sunshine. Dean's steps slow down as he reaches a familiar clearing uphill.

"This is where I found you," he says, looking over at Cas.

"Oh," Cas throws him a sideways glance. "I don't have much memory of that day."

"Probably 'cause you're like, _gazillion_ old."

Cas shoves him, "You're insufferable."

"It's part of the package," he grins. "You don't get a hot body without a catch."

"Well, in that case you've lucked out," Cas replies, amusement glinting in his eyes.

"Oh, you bastard," Dean wraps his arms around Cas' waist, kissing the smirk right off his face. They pull apart, leaning their forehead against each others'. "You really don't remember falling down here?"

Cas shakes his head, "My only memory is of your voice bringing me to consciousness, and how warm you were."

"It was freaky. I thought you were dumped here by the mob or something."

"The mob is much more inconspicuous regarding their tracks," Cas rolls his eyes, "But you have a very active imagination for an adult."

"Bite me," he quips, planting a kiss on Cas' lips. "Guess we should camp out here if we don't wanna miss the sunrise."

"You want to watch the sunrise?" Cas tilts his head, his tone flat.

"Uh, yeah," Dean ducks his head. "Now that I think about it, you've probably seen a lot of these. Hell, you've probably seen the sun close up. I didn't think about—"

A palm cups his cheek, Cas' blue eyes boring into his own, though the expression in them can't be described as nothing short of awe. 

"Thank you, Dean," Cas smiles softly. "The sun was just another star to me. Watching the sunrise with you is so much more special to me than anything else I could ever witness."

Dean laughs, feeling his heart swell, "Got that from a hallmark card?"

Cas rolls his eyes, "I would have to say you're 'killing the moment'."

"You're not gonna stop me," he presses a kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth before moving to grab one of the blankets and spreading it on the snowy floor. 

They settle against each other, their backs pressed to the sturdy bark of a tree, legs tangled under the blankets. Dean finds Cas' hand, twining their fingers together as the sun simmers over the horizon, shy rays of golden light painting the sky crimson. A flock of Song Sparrows fly overhead, chirping harmoniously as they soar past the cold morning wind, heading home.

"I love you," Cas murmurs, eyes fixed on the sky.

Dean drops his head on his shoulder, "Ditto, sunshine."

As the world around them wakes up, Dean feels as though he has never been this awake ever before.

"Wanna climb all the way up to the top?" he asks Cas.

Cas doesn't reply, simply braces one hand on the floor, other still clutching Dean's and pulls them both upright. Dean's heart flutters in his chest, his throat feeling a little dry from Cas' sudden display of strength, knowing for all Cas hides behind the baggy clothes, the tone muscles and strong arms can pin Dean down easily.

He dusts his clothes and packs up the blankets as Cas speaks, "We could, but I don't think the view can get any better."

"Pretty sure it's much nicer up—" he cuts off when he looks over at Cas, only to see him looking back at Dean with the kind of smile that has Dean's knees going weak. "Sap," he grumbles, pulling Cas into a kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas murmurs against his lips. 

“Shut up,” Dean ducks his head to hide the color creeping up his face.  _ Fucking hell, I’m almost thirty.  _ He tugs at their intertwined hands, “Come on.“

The sky brightens up and slow signs of life bubble up all around them as they climb to the top of the mountain. The landscape is picturesque, almost out of a painting if it weren’t for the slow gushing of the spring below them, one long stretch of flowing water that dips up and down and winds through thick trees. 

“Told you it would be—” Dean cuts off when he looks over at Cas, who’s standing frozen, eyes wide and fixed somewhere far away. Dean reaches for his hand, “Cas?”

Cas jumps, taking a step away from him, his shaky hands clasped together. A fraction of a second is all it takes as realization dawns in his eyes. A pained noise bubbles past Cas’ chest and it strikes a chord within Dean, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Cas, hey, it’s alright,” Dean cautiously reaches for his shoulder, pulling him into a hug when he doesn’t resist the touch. “What was that? Are you okay?”

“It’s not of importance,” Cas murmurs into Dean’s shoulder. “My mind slipped away for a moment…”

“I get it, we’ve all got skeletons in our closet,” Dean soothes, ignoring the way his own heart is slamming wildly in his chest. “Just... _ fuck _ , you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs against his shoulder, voice barely a whisper.

“Shh, don’t be,” he soothes. “You wanna go back?”

He feels Cas shake his head and borrow closer into his chest for a moment, hands holding Dean a little tighter. It lasts for a quarter of a second before Cas is pulling away, all traces of fear and panic on his face replaced by a strange calmness. 

“Please don’t worry, Dean,” Cas says softly.

“That’s not how it works,” Dean says, cupping Cas’ face in his hands. “If there is something to worry about, I’m damn well gonna do it. Just talk to me, alright?”

“There is nothing,” Cas murmurs, leaning in to kiss him slow and deep. 

“Good,” Dean sighs as they pull apart, his heart spilling over with warmth like that of the early winter sun, bright and flowing. 

They spend some more time eating and talking, the quiet calmness of the mountains a pleasant wall of white noise to block them out from the reach of the rest of the world. Dean teaches Cas to build a snowman with the little snow they had to work with, which somehow turned into a snowball fight and by the end of it, Dean’s shirt was wet and Cas had snow in his hair.

“Hey, Cas, lie down on the floor,” Dean chips.

Cas rightfully frowns, “Excuse me?”

“Just do it, trust me,” he says, gently pushing Cas to lie down in the show. 

Cas takes a couple steps away from the edge and lies down, looking up at Dean with the signature head tilt that sends Dean’s gut flipping pleasantly. 

“Now wave your arms and legs.”

Cas gapes up at him, “What?”

“Come on, it’s gonna be fun,” Dean says. “Wave your arms—no, not up. Sideways—no, yeah like that. Now your legs.”

Cas flaps his arms up and down looking utterly lost and mildly scared and Dean has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing. Once he’s satisfied, Dean reaches out a hand to pull Cas up to his side.

“It’s a snow angel!” he grins, looking down at the vague figure on the ground. 

Cas crouches lower, peering at the imprint in the snow, “The resemblance is uncanny,” he deadpans.

Dean doesn’t reply, instead, like the mature adult he is, grabs a handful of slow and shoves it down Cas’ shirt.

“Dean!” Cas explains, jumping away from him like a spooked cat. “My shirt is wet and I’m cold!”

“That’s for being a dick,” he grins, tugging Cas closer and shoving his hands under Cas’ sweater. 

“Dean, stop!”

“It’s gonna warm you up in a bit,” Dean says, leaning down to press kisses along Cas’ jaw to distract him. Cas sighs softly, his hands coming up to cup Dean’s face. Dean goes willingly into the kiss, letting him claim his lips as he surrounds himself in the feeling of nothing but Castiel.

Cas pulls away, the smile on his face so beautiful, Dean finds it hard to breathe.

“What are you grinning about?” Dean asks.

“It’s just…” Cas begins, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words, even as he’s smiling. “I just realized something.”

Dean squints at him, “What?”

Cas shakes his head, “It’s only good things.”

"Thank God for that." 

He curls his palm on the back of Cas' neck and pulls him in for a gentle kiss, soft and warm enough to make his legs give out from underneath him. They pull away, lips only a breath apart.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" he asks.

"I told you not to worry, Dean," Cas says, but Dean can't get the sight of his wide eyes and shaky hands away from behind his eyes. 

"Fine," he sighs, giving in. "Ready to head back home?"

Cas looks down at the snow angel, the softest of smiles on his lips, "Always."

* * *

“What are all those?” Cas inquires as soon as Dean has one foot inside the cabin. 

“I’m fine, Cas. Thank you for asking, Cas,” Dean drags the bags of groceries in his hand to the kitchen as he says, “I love you too, Cas.”

If he listens closely enough, Dean can hear the eye roll that accompanies Cas’ response.

“You were gone only for a little over an hour, Dean,” he says. “Then again, you’ve always had a flare for the dramatics.”

“Asshole,” Dean smiles to himself. “Get in here and kiss me now, I’m cold.”

He winces at how needy it comes out, finding ways to backtrack, but when a pair of hands slip under the front of his shirt and a warm body presses up behind him, and it's all forgotten. Cas shifts him around until they’re facing each other, Dean’s entire being zeroing in on the soft and warm eyes that stare back at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in greeting, as he brushes their lips together in a gentle kiss. “Why did you buy so much groceries?”

“‘Cause we’re baking today,” Dean grins brightly. “Grab an apron and roll up your sleeves, sweetheart.”

“What are we baking?” Cas asks, moving to dig through the bags.

Dean chuckles, surprised at the lack of resistance, “We’ve got apples, cherries—”

“Pie,” Cas nods sagely. “Please tell me you’re not making both the pies at once.”

"One pie for me, one for you."

"Dean, I can't have a whole pie."

"I got the rest," Dean smiles, leaning forward to kiss Cas. "No amount of pie is enough pie."

"I can't help you if—" Cas cuts himself off, shaking his head.

Dean nudges him, "What?"

"I was thinking if you end up being diabetic from all this sugar, I could have cured you," Cas laughs softly. "Then I remembered I don't have my grace anymore."

Dean bristles, gripping the counter tight, "Uh, yeah."

He knew this was long coming, as Cas realizes this isn't where he wants to be— _ who he wants to be.  _ Dean let himself get wrapped up in the false sense of security, hoping with everything he has that Cas would stay. What they have is all Dean had ever wanted, but Cas deserves so much more. He feels the happiness trickle away from between his fingers, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake.

"Dean," Cas lays a hand on his arm. "I'm not complaining, nor am I regretting any of this."

"No, you don't gotta do that, Cas," he shakes his head. "Don't push away what you feel for my sake. I get it."

Cas slips closer, cupping Dean's face in his hands, "No, you don't. For eons I felt as though I was caged, and finding you set me free. I wouldn't change a thing."

Dean shuts his eyes to forget the burning behind his eyelids, "I don't wanna lose you, Cas."

"You won't," Cas murmurs. "I don't think I can ever bring myself to be away from you for long."

"Cas, just don't," Dean pulls away, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Are you hearing yourself? You can't be seriously talking about giving up all that just to be with me."

His heart aches with the effort to believe Castiel's words, but every atom in Dean is screaming at him to push Cas away to protect his own heart from breaking. He can't let himself cling to that hope. Thoughts are like burning coal in his mind, sizzling and spitting the wrong kind of heat in and around him.

The soft touch of Cas skin against his is all it takes to douse the fire.

“Dean, look at me,” Cas says, stern yet soothing. Dean opens his eyes and finds his gaze locked with the lightning blue of Cas’ eyes, warm like liquid heat seeping into his chest.

"All what, Dean? Being an angel?" he asks, "because if you think anything in this whole world would compare to even a fraction of what I feel when I'm with you, then you're wrong."

Dean shakes his head, "Don't put me ahead of the whole world, I'm not worth all that."

"Maybe not to you," Cas says. "But to me—"

"Don't say I'm your whole world, I'll punch you in your pretty face," he chuckles, closing the distance between them to press his lips against Castiel's, his resolve crumbling like a brick wall. “Stay,” Dean whispers. “Stay with me.”

The pure adoration that flickers past Cas’ eyes steals the air out of Dean’s lungs. 

“I intend to,” he replies, arms pulling him into a hug. Dean sighs into Cas’ shoulder, holding onto Cas when his legs can't keep himself up anymore.

Dean’s phone rings, and he shakes his head, not wanting to pull away. Cas chuckles and gently pushes him back, going over to pick up the phone himself and Dean returns to spreading out the ingredients. 

“Hello, Sam,” Cas greets, leaning against the counter. “How is Eileen feeling?”

“She’s running around just fine. I’m getting her to eat all the salty stuff I can find to keep her blood pressure up,” Sam’s voice returns through the speaker. “How are you guys doing?” 

“Dean is  _ unnecessarily  _ baking two pies,” Cas says pointedly. “Dean, say hi to Sam.”

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean calls out, “Cut your hair yet?”

“Ha ha,” Sam deadpans. “And Cas, two pies are a single serving kinda thing for Dean.”

“See, what’d I tell you?” Dean wiggles his knife at Cas, who rolls his eyes and his whole body moves along with it. That shouldn’t be so goddamn cute. 

“Hey, Eileen’s asking when you guys are coming back,” Sam says.

Cas looks up at him, and Dean simply smiles, “He said  _ we,  _ Cas. No arguments there.”

“Are you sure you want me to come along?” Cas flushes. “It’s your family, Dean—”

“And what do you think you are?” Dean asks. It’s his turn to flush now as he realizes what he just said. “You’re coming with me, baby.”

“Awh,” comes two harmonious cooing from the phone in Cas’ hand. “Good job making an honest man out of Dean, Cas.”

“Shut your face,” Dean grumbles, cheeks hurting from the effort to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. “Why’d you call, everything alright?”

“I called because I missed my brother,” Sam says, probably rolling his eyes. “Come on, call me a girl, I’ll wait.”

“That would just be inappropriate, Sammy,” Dean grins like the little shit he is. “Men can express emotions, nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Oh my God, Cas what have you done with my brother?” Sam laughs. “Eileen’s saying you should just marry Cas since you’re already a trophy wife.”

Cas snickers, “He sure does all the cooking and cleaning...a lot actually.”

“I hate all of you,” he mutters, face on fire.

Cas slides up next to him, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek, “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right,” Dean leans down to kiss Cas properly, melting against the feeling. 

“Quit sucking faces,” Sam’s voice says. “You know what—” and the line goes dead.

Cas pulls away, eyebrows pinched in a frown, “Did he feel bad?”

“Nah, he’s just being a bitch, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he smiles, kissing the tip of Cas’ nose. It’s disgustingly sappy on his part but Dean couldn’t care less, not when Cas smiles back in a way his eyes crinkle in the corner. Their lips meet in a kiss, and then another until individual kisses turn into one long breathtaking kiss.

“We’ve got a pie to bake,” Dean says after a while, could be minutes or days, he’s not sure. 

“Two, actually,” Cas laughs, pulling away. “How can I help?”

“You take care of the filling, I’ll do the crust,” Dean untangles himself from Cas’ arms reluctantly. “It’s not that hard, I’ll be your YouTube tutorial.”

“I’m assuming I should be making a Master Yoda reference here, but I’m not sure how to go about it,” Cas says, leaning against the counter. 

Dean grins and grabs a handful of Cas’ shirt to press a kiss to the sharp cut of his jaw, “It’s the thought that counts,” he chuckles, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Cas'.

A thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, "Dean?"

He can't help but succumb to the smile tugging against his lips, "Are you even real, Cas?"

Cas' grin is audible when he says, "Now that's very insulting."

"Fuck off and make the damn filling," Dean shoves him away, grabbing the packet of flour for the crust. Nothing in the world is enough to wipe the smile off his face.

Baking sails smoothly from there on, Dean knowing the process like the back of his hand. He goes by the motions easily, quietly humming along to the music in his head, only pausing to throw some instruction Cas' way. His boyfriend takes up the task at hand like a champ, smiling brightly when Dean compliments him on something. 

"I think the cherry filling is slightly less sweet," Cas hums.

Dean looks up at him, spotting a streak of red across his cheek. He slides closer to Cas and scoops up the cherry filling from his face, licking it off his finger, "Nah, it's perfect."

"Dean," Cas' eyes grow wide, pupils almost eclipsing the bright blue. A split second later, Dean was met with an armful of his lover kissing him like a dying man—frantic and passionate. Dean smiles into the kiss, pulling Cas as close as he can.

They pull away panting for air, the world around them coming to a pause at that moment.

Dean raises a brow at him, "What's with you and eating food off people?"

"Not people, just you," Cas murmurs, voice low and dripping sex.  _ Jesus fucking Christ _ . 

Dean has his back pressed against the wall in three seconds flat, Cas latching on to the skin on his throat, gently sucking marks down to his collarbone. Dean threads his fingers into Cas' hair tugging him up for a kiss.

"Bed," he breathes out. "Kitchen sex is hot but- but we gotta cook here later."

"Mhm," Cas nods, sucking at the spot under his ear that makes Dean go wild. "Bedroom is far away."

"It's not in Denmark, dipshit," Dean tries to push him off halfheartedly. "Come on, the faster we get there—"

Cas pulls away from where he was leaving his flag on Dean's neck, "What about the pie?"

"What pie?" Dean smirks, crashing his lips against his boyfriend's as he guides them back to their room, trying not to bump into anything.

"Dean," Cas murmurs against his lips, breathy and desperate. Dean kisses him hard, their legs moving on their own accord towards however far the bedroom was, apparently Cas is right. It _is_ pretty far away from the kitchen. Dean has his hands up Cas' shirt, palms flat on his chest when a rustling noise makes him still.

They pull apart, the room spinning to a stop as his eyes focus on the three tall figures standing in the living room, pearly white wings dropping over their shoulders and dragging across the dusty cabin floor.

* * *

"Well, I assume we were interrupting something," speaks the redhead angel standing front and center, her eyes focused somewhere past Dean's shoulder—on Castiel.

Dean stands there not sure if he's breathing or blinking, none of that being his top priority at the moment. The other two angels in the room have their eyes on Dean, one of them a hard glare while the other looking at him as though he can see right through Dean—which, thinking about it, he probably can—sending a chill down Dean's spine.

"Anna," Castiel says, stepping in front of Dean as though shielding him from the present company. The action would've been a bruise to his ego if he was actually a little bit scared. "Why are you here?"

"Why— are you really asking that?" began the angel to Anna's right, tall and gangly limbs, only to be stopped by Mr. X-ray vision.

"Inias, don't," the third angel speaks, a hand on Inias' shoulder.

"There is a war to be fought. I'm sure my mundane human life can wait," Cas says, and Dean desperately hopes Cas was playing it up for the part and seriously didn't think Dean was boring. 

"We're here because we're desperate, Castiel," Anna conveys, her expression as calm as the summer sky. "This war cannot be won without our strategist."

Dean's heart is pounding against his chest to the point where he was sure the people in the room could hear it, only Inias and Anna has their eyes trained on Cas. The other guy though, his stare was burning holes through Dean's skin. It's almost similar to those little squints stares Cas gives him when he's trying to puzzle out something Dean said.

"That's not who I am anymore, sister," Cas says. "Sorry to say this, but you're wasting your time here."

"Is it not you, or is it not who you want to be anymore?" the other angel spoke for the first time, his voice holding all the grounding calmness in it. 

For the first time, Dean saw Cas look unsure, a little surprised even, his shoulders tense and jaw set hard, "I'm not sure what answer you're looking for, Michael."

_ Oh. _

It's in that moment Dean realizes that he hasn't said a word yet.

"Uh," Dean swallows, pushing his heart back down from his throat. "You guys want some beer?"

_ Why the fuck did he ask that?! _

Anna and Inias turn in synchrony to scowl at Dean and for a moment he thought he was about to get turned into ground beef. Michael on the other hand had his eyes on Cas, even as a small smile curled his lips. So much for meeting the boyfriend’s family.

"You can't simply ignore your duties, Castiel," Inias snaps. "Your presence is expected in the battlefield, not  _ here  _ with some—"

"Inias, that's enough!" Michael says, and Dean knows there is no argument there. He's heard that tone of voice from his dad more times he can count. 

And that's what snaps the final chord of Dean's restraint.

"Cas isn't expected to do anything," he spits out in a moment of sheer—and probably life threatening—bravery. "Quit acting like he's your puppet because he's not. Not anymore."

"Stay out of what is not your concern, human," Anna aims a glare his way, her wings flaring out with a sharp snapping sound. Dean bristles, trying not to flinch and hide behind Cas, but a hand grasps his elbow, holding him in place.

"You will not walk in here and speak to Dean that way," Cas barks, and Dean vaguely remembers that they were three seconds away from fucking before they were interrupted. "There is nothing I can do for you, Anna."

"Are you going to turn your back on heaven, Castiel?" Inias steps forward, and Dean opens his mouth to say something,  _ anything _ but stills as he locks eyes with Michael. The angel's gaze is calm but cautious, it's intensity pinning Dean to the spot. Michael shakes his head minutely, and Dean snaps his mouth shut.

"Inias, this is not about heaven or my lack of indulgence," Cas says, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm not heaven's strategist anymore, brother. I'm sure you will find a way."

"Have you stooped low enough to consider disobedience?" Anna questions, voice dripping venom. "Come with us, Castiel, this isn't a request."

"Anna, you can only ask, not give orders," Michael places a hand on her shoulder, drawing her back. "Castiel has made his peace with his life."

"Michael, he's turning a blind eye," Anna grouses. "You cannot possibly believe he doesn't know."

"The hell do you mean?" Dean asks, finding his voice after so long.

"Dean, no," Cas shakes his head, eyes desperate and Dean feels the electric pulsing of fear climbing up his feet. For some reason he looks over at Michael for help, only to receive a blank stare in return.

"Cas, what the fuck is going on?"

"What is it about you, tell me?" Anna asks, her fiery gaze circling Dean like a hawk. "Are you special enough for Castiel to want to give up his essence even when it's right where he can reach?"

"Look lady, I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean replies, annoyed. "But if Cas wants to stay then he's staying."

"Really?" Inias scoffs. "Are you foolish enough to challenge us?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "I ain't doing shit. Cas is human and there's pretty much nothing he can do for you."

Anna smirks, "So you have not told him either, have you?"

"This is none of your business—"

"It is," Anna steps closer, and this time Michael doesn't stop her. "You could— _ should  _ be with us fighting the war right now. Instead you have chosen to live among these heathens."

"Hey—"

"Lucky for you, we have made the work easy," Anna continues, talking right over Dean. She clenches her fist, eyes slipping shut. 

"Cas, what—"

Before he could get his concern out, Anna walks towards them, holding out a vial of glowing blue... _ something.  _ It isn't water, nor is it some gas. It simmers and strains against the glass of the vial, as though looking to latch itself on to something— _ someone _ .

Dean feels his heart come to a slow stop, all the buzzing questions in his mind finding their answer trapped along with the shining blue light in the vial. 

"Anna…" Cas blinks, clenched fists shaking at his sides. 

"You can't turn away anymore, Castiel," Anna hissed. "This war decides where you stand for your disobedience."

Castiel was standing stiff as a statue, the only indication of life being his shaking hands. Dean reaches out to touch him, not sure how to process all of this himself to begin with. 

"You can't keep pretending you don't see it anymore, Castiel," Inias spits out. 

"Cas..." Dean swallows.

"Do you know where we found Castiel's grace?" Anna asks, addressing Dean directly. "It was barely a five minute walk from here. Maybe he was convinced if he looked away, it would simply dissipate into thin air."

Dean stills, remembering their trip to the top of the mountain and Cas' wide eyes and shaky hands...no that can't be…

"Cas, you knew where your grace was?"

Cas closes his eyes, dragging in a shaky breath, "Yes," he nods.

"Why didn't—why didn't you take it back?" Dean asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"I never...I never wanted to leave."

Dean feels his heart twist with a number of emotions he can't separate out. On one hand, Cas actually wanted to stay, wanted to be with him and spend the foreseeable future as a human,  _ with  _ Dean. On the other, he was choosing to give up everything he was—everything that held the essence of his billion year old existence—for  _ him  _ out of all people. 

"Cas," he chokes out, ignoring the quiver in his voice. "I want nothing more than for you to stay, you know that. But…"

Cas shakes his head, "I would choose you every time, Dean, no matter what."

His heart aches for Cas, and Dean wants nothing more than to reach out and just hold him, but the company they've got looks angry and impatient enough to have Dean stay rooted to the spot. 

"I wish you didn't have to choose," Dean murmurs, cupping Cas' face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he adds, for no other words seem to come to his mind.

"You're the best thing that has happened to me, Dean," Cas smiles, "Don't ever apologize for letting me love you."

Anna scoffs, "This is not what our father created love for."

"Our father never created love, Anna," Michael speaks up, his wings—much longer and wider than the others'—gently flapping against his back. "Our father  _ is  _ love. He conjured a part of himself in every emotion humanity feels, love being the purest of them."

"Are you telling me we should let Castiel stay here while hell is waging war upon us?" Anna barks.

"What I am saying is," Michael looks at Dean and back at Cas, "We should let Castiel make that choice."

"But—"

"That's enough, Anna," Michael stares her down, before turning to him and Cas. "I believe you two have some discussion to carry out. Go on, we will wait here."

Dean drags in a shaky breath, gesturing at Cas to follow him to their bedroom. The door shuts out some of the tension bleeding around them, but Dean’s heart has made a permanent home in his throat. He leans his head against the door, looking over at Cas who’s staring back at him looking worse than Dean feels.

“Dean,” Cas opens his mouth, and closes it back up like a goldfish. Dean would’ve found the whole thing to be funny if his life wasn’t about to fall apart. 

“Cas, whatever is it that you decide, I’ve got you,” he says, because he’s never learned to be selfish. “C’mere.” 

“You should also know that no matter what I choose, my future is with you,” Cas rushes closer, cupping Dean’s face in his hands. “I cannot remember how I survived these many aeons without knowing you, and I can never live that way again.”

Dean slips his eyes shut, tears burning behind his closed lids. Every breath he draws in feels like barbed wire against his chest, the feeling of something so perfect slipping right through his fingers leaving his shaking. He knows he has to let go, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I want you to stay, Cas. More than I want anything in this world,” he says, trying to keep the quiver in his voice at bay. “But there are places you’re needed more, and that’s why I should let you go.”

Cas’ eyes widen, “I can’t hurt you, not even when it’s temporary.”

“Told you not to put me ahead of the whole world, sweetheart,” Dean smiles, wrapping his arms around Cas. “If you don’t forget me once you’re up there, you’ll always have a home with me.”

“I could never, not even if I wanted to,” Cas says, and Dean wants to believe him with everything he has, but he knows how the story goes. He’s never been the one that got away. 

“Then this isn’t goodbye,” he replies, sounding more confident than he feels. He leans forward, slotting his lips against Castiel’s in a kiss that he hopes isn’t a farewell. “I love you, Castiel.”

“I love you too,” Cas sighs, resting their foreheads together. “I always will.”

Dean swallows, choking back a sob, “Enough with the chick flick. Go save the world, Superman.”

Cas shakes his head, smiling softly, “You’re an interesting man, Dean Winchester.”

When they duck back into the living room, Anna and Inias are standing stiff as though their tails are on fire, ready to attack the first bug that flies into the room. Michael on the other hand has made himself comfortable on the couch, Dean’s laptop open in his lap.

Dean clears his throat, “Good, everyone’s alive.”

“Of course, Dean,” Michael smiles. “This machine is very peculiar. I’m not sure how it functions, though.”

“I’m just gonna…” he reaches out and plucks the laptop from Michael’s hold. “We’ve made up our minds.”

“Is Castiel staying?” Michael asks, sounding almost  _ hopeful _ .

Dean shakes his head, “He’s all yours.”

“For now,” Cas adds. “We wrap up the war and I leave.”

“Pathetic,” Anna scoffs. “Barely any time some with a human and look how low you’ve stooped.”

Dean sets his jaw, staring straight at her, “One more word and I’ll ask him to stay. Go before I change my mind.”

If looks could kill, Dean would be six feet under by now.

“How dare you—”

“Anna, you heard the man,” Michael cuts her off. “Hand over Castiel’s grace and we can be on our way. We have a lot to prepare for and not enough time.”

Silence falls over the cabin like a thick blanket of frigid weight knocking the air out of Dean’s lungs. Anna walks over, her eyes glaring daggers straight at Dean, and slips the glowing blue vial into Cas’ hand. Dean watches as Cas stares down at the thing, pained and relieved at the same time, and he knows it won’t take much for the relief to mask the pain. 

“Go on, Cas,” Dean breathes out, putting on a smile. Cas flings himself at Dean, arms wrapping him up in a bone crushing hug. Dean lets himself be held, every shard of his broken heart held together by the splinter of hope that this isn’t the last time he gets to hold the man he loves in his arms.

"I will be back soon," Cas murmurs as they pull away, "Don't ever doubt that, Dean."

"One more for the road?" Dean asks, because he's never been good at listening, and presses his lips against Castiel's before anyone in the room gets a little too impatient. As much as he doesn’t want it to be, Dean knows it might be their last kiss. Angels never felt—Cas said it himself—and that’s who Cas was going to be, and Dean was going to the angelic equivalent of a summer fling. He doesn’t blame Cas. He could never.

"How long is this going to go on?" Anna mutters, sounding bored.

Dean pulls away from Cas, "Listen here, bitch—"

"Dean, don't," Cas shakes his head, leaning up to press a kiss to Dean's forehead. "Close your eyes."

His whole body shudders as Cas presses his palm over Dean's eyes, plunging him into darkness.

A blink of silence later Dean feels his skin prickle like crackling electricity, the room buzzing with something he can't see but feel to the very last atom of his being. It dies out as fast as it came, filling the cabin with a quiet lull that leaves Dean gasping. He opens his eyes, blinking hard as he takes in the emptiness around him with aching chest, the ghost of Cas' touch on skin lingering like a faraway dream.

It's all it takes before his legs give out underneath him and he slumps to the floor, eyes burning behind his closed lids. Something slips off the arm of the couch and lands on his shoulder. Dean brushes his fingers against the soft material and pulls it into his lap, his chest crumbling like a brick wall.

"Come back to me, Cas," he whispers out to the empty room, hiding his face in his angel's blue cardigan, trying and failing to hold back a sob.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Alexa play Cardigan by Taylor Swift.  
> See you next week!


End file.
